


Strike the Bell

by a_fearsome_thing



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, pirate!blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6409576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_fearsome_thing/pseuds/a_fearsome_thing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years ago, Blaine’s father made a deal with the Captain of the Flying Dutchman which left his 8-year-old son indentured to the ship. Now his time is up, and Blaine is nearing his freedom. He’ll finally be able to live on land, make his own choices, and maybe even seen if the 5 years of correspondence with one Kurt Hummel has the potential he thinks it does. But a lot can change over time, and with a Captain slowly descending into madness and an unknown threat looming on the horizon, Blaine’s escape won’t be as easy as he'd hoped</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Character death in a world where death doesn’t really end much at all? Some violence. 
> 
> I need to thank my indomitable beta flowerfan2 and the UNBELIEVABLY TALENTED riverance who made the amazing cover art that nearly made me cry with happiness when I saw it. You can find it here (soon)
> 
> See notes at the end for translations/references

This story began in the midst of a terrible storm when the Captain of a Dutch trading ship was gifted with immortality for daring to face the fury of nature in an attempt to deliver vital medication to those who needed it. Undying, he would forever sail the seas, tasked with ferrying the souls of those who died at sea to what comes after, helping lost souls in death as he couldn’t in life.  

This story began in 1803 when an Englishman made a deal with the devil and sold his 8 year old son into fifteen years of service aboard the cursed ship in exchange for wealth and rank, for the Captain knew the worth of a soul and this boy’s deserved more than what life was giving him.

But this story really began fourteen years later, when the boy, now a man, was reaching the end of his sentence and the cursed Dutchman had to come to terms with what he stood to lose.

*************

A sudden wind picked up as thunder rumbled overhead, causing Blaine to look up. The sky was darkening quickly as clouds gathered in a brewing storm. Blaine’s heart  sank with the rapidity of the changing weather; the shipwreck must have been sudden, which often meant nothing good. He didn’t have long to wonder, though—the _Dutchman_ made her jump back to the land of the living.

Sure enough, almost as soon as Santana and Mike appeared on either side of him, hands firm on his shoulders, the ship dove down into the sea.

Blaine took a deep breath and braced himself, gripping the rail tightly. Water rushed over the deck, and it was only through years of experience, sturdy ship building, and his two friends’ support that Blaine managed to not be bowled over onto his ass. It only took seconds but when they surfaced, Blaine was sopping wet and spluttering. A completely dry Santana smacked the soaking red bandana back onto his head and walked away smirking while a sympathetic yet equally dry and, though he would never admit it, amused Mike patted his shoulder before also moving away.

Wiping the water from his eyes, Blaine grumbled to himself and quickly retied the piece of cloth around his hair—he had to keep it under wraps since he couldn’t keep it under control. Of all the injustices that made up Blaine’s current situation—and there were a fair few, Blaine had to admit—he thought the regular dousing he received during the jump while the rest of the crew remained dry and unaffected was among the most irritating.

The others wouldn’t be spared for long, Blaine mused as he looked around and oriented himself. The storm that had been brewing in the far off waters surrounding Fiddler’s Green was in full strength here. The wind whipped sheets of water into his face as he jumped to secure his lifeline to the mast; the _Dutchman_ may be invulnerable to the storm, heading full sail into the wind with nary a violent rock of the deck, but that didn’t stop the storm-tossed sea from rushing up and over the ship. The rest of the crew remained firmly planted on their feet throughout, some magic of the ship protecting those that manned her from being swept away. Except for Blaine. It took only one incidence of an eight year old Blaine being tossed overboard by a strong blast of water to nearly drown for Blaine to learn his lesson.

An older sailor named Benjy had fished him out and lectured him the important of the life line for a sailor in a storm. Blaine had latched onto the man and learned everything he could from him. Remembering his old mentor now as he secured the line, Blaine felt a pang for the man who had passed on long ago. He shook it off and buried it quickly. They had work to do. Springing to the nearest sheet, he tied it more tightly as it threatened to rip free in the wind and listened closely for the shouted instructions from either the Master or his two mates, Wes and David.

There was movement above him. Blaine slid out of the way so Tina could swing gracefully to the deck, her long hair dripping and held out of her face by a dark cloth.

Wiping a strand stuck to her cheek away, she grinned widely at Blaine.

“Joining us common folk this time?” She checked the closest set of knots, tightening one before moving on to the next.

Blaine returned her grin and followed.

“For now. Seems I’m allowed today.” In the recent years, it had become a toss-up if Blaine helped the sailors or if the Captain would keep him close at hand. There was a pattern emerging, but Blaine didn’t want to think about it too closely as his service came to an end. “Artie all set?” he asked.

Tina seemed to know where his thoughts had gone, glancing at him shrewdly but allowing the more simple conversation, “Lashed to the foremast properly, you mean? Of course he is. This isn’t our first go-around, Blainey. Though the storm sailing has been happening less frequently.” A small frown flashed across her face, a dimple appearing between her furrowed brows as she paused and exchanged another look with Blaine, who matched her frown with his own. This was treading too near that taboo subject again.

“Later, Tina,” Blaine said, uncomfortably. Tina opened her mouth to reply when Puck’s voice rose above the storm.

“Man overboard!”

“That was fast,” Tina remarked, eyebrows up towards her hairline. “We must’ve jumped pretty close to it.” Blaine nodded, his own surprise evident as his eyes went wide. They moved closer to the rail to try to spot the man, but Blaine hesitated as he heard his name called.

“Captain’s calling.” Tina waved distractedly at him, still peering out into the night. Blaine turned sternward, checking the length of his lifeline and the abating ferocity of the storm. He decided to risk it, untying the knot, struggling for a moment with the swollen rope before finally freeing himself and tossing it back towards the mast.

He trod confidently but cautiously towards the stern where Captain Fokke waited. Taking his place by the man’s side, he felt a warmth as the Captain gripped his shoulder and smiled down at him genially. Blaine returned his smile, fond of him despite his worsening autocratic tendencies.

Captain Fokke squeezed his shoulder once before releasing it, and together they approached the starboard rail to watch the crew retrieving whoever it was that had called to them. The ship pulled alongside the lifeboat Puck had spotted, empty but for one poor soul slumped over the side. Even from a distance, there was a noticeable piece of shrapnel lodged in his side, his dark shirt masking what surely would be a substantial amount of blood.

Blaine inhaled sharply; no matter how many times he saw it and no matter how many different ways, he didn’t think he would ever get used to watching people die. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the stoic man beside him. Did Captain Fokke once imagine the same thing? How long had it been since he had become inured to the death they saw so frequently?

Blaine looked away, trying hard to peer through the driving rain to see if there was any sign of a ship or other surviving passengers. He saw nothing but whitecaps. Once the man they had found was onboard, whether there were others still alive waiting to be found would only be told through the pull their souls had on the Captain.

Futilely wiping at some of the water dripping in his eye, Blaine licked his perpetually chapped lips and turned his attention back to the man they _had_ found. He was being hauled onto the _Dutchman_ by Puck and another gunner to where Santana and Bartholomew waited. Blaine and Captain Fokke went to meet them. Even from just the glimpse of the wound he had seen, Blaine knew it wasn’t likely that the surgeon would be able to do much for him. Which is when he and the Captain would step in.

Placed gently on the deck, the gasping, wet sounds of the dying man’s breathing was audible even in the howling wind. He was no older than Blaine. Blaine exchanged a look with Santana before she set about helping Bartholomew, pulling back their patient’s sodden jacket and tearing his shirt to help visualize the wound. As it came into view, Santana pursed her lips as they turned down at the corners, her expression grim. Their ship’s surgeon, Bartholomew, leaned back on his haunches and shook his head at the Captain.

“There’s nothing I can do for him now. He has hours, if that. Less if we remove that bit of wood.” He nodded towards the sizeable piece of shrapnel embedded in the poor man’s abdomen. “He’s all yours, Captain. Santana, wake him, if you can.”

“Yes, sir,” Santana said, grinning a little.  She began lightly slapping the sailor’s cheeks. “Hey. Time to get up. Come on, you. _Despiértate_.” Her slaps got progressively less gentle; despite the situation, Blaine had to fight back a smile. Santana held the position of Surgeon’s Mate, had a big heart (especially for those she deemed worthy), and appeared delicate (at first glance, if you missed her fierceness), but Blaine knew she got a thrill out of a little bit of violence. Rather, he amended mentally, she liked power. Santana did not like to appear weak in front of anyone, which was understandable considering her history, and either verbal or physical assault was typically how she made her first impression.

With a final wet smack, the man’s eyes flew open and darted wildly about, never settling on one person for too long, his labored breaths speeding up and becoming more shallow. Blaine dropped to his knees and shuffled closer, pulling the man’s hand into his lap and giving it a gentle squeeze, drawing his wide-eyed and unwavering attention.

“Hey,” he said gently, stolidly meeting the man’s wide green eyes, “My name is Blaine. You’re safe. We’re here to help you. Just breathe.  Just try to breathe.” He kept his voice soothing as the man gradually calmed, the frantic look of prey leaving his eyes as he stared steadily at Blaine. “What’s your name?” Blaine tried.

The man licked his lips and his eyes flickered around to the rest of the people gathered around him before settling back on Blaine. He struggled for a moment but managed to rasp out a barely audible, “Sebastian.”

Blaine smiled kindly at him and squeezed his hand again. The Captain patted his back and settled down next to Blaine, drawing Sebastian’s attention.

“You’re dying, lad,” Captain Fokke began bluntly. “You’re not long for this world, unless I help you. If you swear service to me aboard this ship, you could live forever.” The Captain’s voice was gruff, cold blue eyes staring out of a weather-beaten face. It was a mask, Blaine knew, that hid a depth of caring behind the distance Captain Fokke needed to maintain.

Blaine smiled kindly, suffusing his voice with as much warmth and comfort that he could. “We wish we could give you more time to decide, Sebastian, but your wound is too severe. We can’t do anything to save your life. Captain Fokke can heal you, but that still means you’re dead, and we’ll escort you to Fiddler’s Green. Or you could swear years of service and live a while longer, in a sense, aboard the _Dutchman_ with us.”

Sebastian coughed, shaking his head back and forth, blood staining his teeth and water running in rivulets from his drenched hair, “No, no. I’ll serve. I…I swear. I swear fealty to the Captain of this ship for however long he’ll have me, until he releases me from service.” Blaine and Santana sucked in sharply, shocked silence settling over the group at the stuttered oath. The hammering of the rain on the deck and wet flapping of the sails seemed to magnify the silence. Concern rose even in Bartholomew’s eyes while satisfaction crept into the Captain’s. That was a lot of power to wield over a man’s soul.

“Accepted.” Captain Fokke cast his eyes down to the wood still protruding from Sebastian’s abdomen. He reached out and grasped it, drawing a pained gasp from Sebastian. Blaine stroked Sebastian’s knuckles with this thumb, his hand still captured in Blaine’s. Sebastian squeezed it to an almost painful degree as the Captain placed a hand where the skewer entered skin, closed his eyes, and slowly began to pull.

Sebastian released a drawn out whine, and Santana brushed his hair back in a gesture one could almost call tender, although she would surely deny it. The skin around the wound seemed to refuse to give up its grip on the wood, clutching around it as the Captain slid it from his flesh. Blaine was grateful now for the driving sound of rain that drowned out the low whimpers Sebastian was involuntarily emitting.

Finally, Sebastian’s skin gave up its last hold on the accidental weapon, and Captain Fokke quickly laid his hand over the remaining hole. Within seconds, he removed it. The rain quickly washed away the blood that had coated Sebastian’s abdomen, leaving behind unmarred skin, except for a white scar the size of a silver dollar. The tension drained out of Sebastian as he went limp.

Captain Fokke rose, issuing a command, “Blaine, Santana. Take him below deck. Find him a place to sleep and something dry to wear.”

Bartholomew nodded at Santana as he too rose to leave, unneeded. “Take care of him.”

“We’ll do what we need to, Sir,” Santana responded. There was some division amongst the crew as to the new direction the Captain was taking, and Bartholomew was one of the members that were difficult to read. Even Santana, who had a natural sense for people’s motivations and worked closely with him, couldn’t say for sure how he felt. At moments like these, though, Blaine rather thought Bartholomew leaned more towards disagreement than support. He had certainly been vocally opposed after the abandonment of the young woman who had rather vociferously objected to some of the Captain’s actions, but he’d been quieter in his opinions since then. They all had.

It had become a question exactly what dissent would stir the Captain’s distrust now, which was a dangerous position to be in. His protectiveness regarding innocents had grown so distorted in its distinctions between victim and villain that no one seemed safe.  He had beaten men who had previously been trusted allies in such a way that would have killed anyone who wasn’t already dead.

Blaine shook off those thoughts and turned his attention back to the present task at hand, slipping an arm under Sebastian’s shoulders to prop him up in a sitting position. He pulled one of Sebastian’s arms over his own shoulders as Santana took over Sebastian’s other side, shifting as much as he could to make standing as easy as possible.

“On three?” he queried, watching Santana settle Sebastian’s arm securely around her neck. She nodded when she was ready. “One, two, three.” He grunted out the three as they heaved the dead weight of Sebastian to his feet and nearly toppled to the side.

“Shit, he’s heavy,” Santana groaned, trying to adjust so that the unconscious man’s weight and the height discrepancy between the three of them weren’t as big of obstacles. “I don’t care how terrible his clothes are, this fool is not as poor as he looks. Looks like a weasel, feels like fucking Zipacna, I swear.”

Santana’s swearing and griping distracted Blaine enough from really feeling the burden until they reached the forecastle companionway and had to stop to assess the situation. Santana dropped Sebastian’s arm from her shoulders and, despite her obvious irritation, helped Blaine to gently lean him against the elevated wooden structure leading down to the crew’s quarters.

“Always my favorite part. The weasel couldn’t have been awake for this, could he?” Santana rolled her shoulders, loosening the muscles in preparation for the next maneuver. “Give it the old heave ho?” she directed at Blaine, already pulling open the hatch for him to go through.

As grateful as Blaine was to finally get out of the rain, he dreaded the next step; he and Santana were well-practiced in helping those they were ferrying and unconscious members of the crew down into the sleeping area, but when they weren’t awake, Santana had a habit of dropping the full weight on top of him instead of lowering them gently. “It’s not like it’ll hurt them anymore. And you have such a nice cushion to land on,” she would explain. She usually paired it with a slap to his ass. Even in life, Santana hadn’t cared much for following etiquette and proper lady-like delicacy as imposed by society.

For all her abuse, though, Blaine knew Santana loved him. She’d kill for him. If she had been able to, she probably would have died for him. He tried to remember that as he hit the ground hard on one knee under the heavy weight she’d just dropped on him. Blaine hooked his arms under Sebastian’s armpits and began dragging him to the nearest unclaimed bunk, glaring at the Latina descending through the hatch with a smirk on her dark lips.

“Thanks, Santana,” Blaine huffed, pouting at her. He was tempted to deposit the soaking wet sailor in her bunk but thought better of it. He was a gentleman. It had nothing to do with the fact it would only encourage worse retribution. Or that it was much further to drag him. Santana remained where she was at the base of the ladder, arms crossed and leaning casually with one hip supported by the ladder. “Your help is appreciated,” he said, sarcasm heavy in his tone.

“No problem,” she drawled, mouth ticked up at the corner in a smirk. Blaine glared at her briefly, and then got back to work as she merely stared at him, unimpressed.

Blaine hoisted Sebastian’s dead weight to a bunk just to the left of the ladder; he was fairly certain no one was currently occupying this one. With the crew changing and new passengers coming and going with varying frequency, it was difficult to keep track. Sebastian could officially claim whichever available bunk he wanted later, figuring out if he wanted to be closer to the ladder—and thus the fresh air—or further from it—away from the constant traffic during the night as people awoke or returned from their shifts.

Moving down to Sebastian’s feet, still dangling off the edge of the bed, Blaine pulled off the man’s boots and arranged Sebastian more comfortably on top of the sleeping pallet. He frowned down at Sebastian’s clothes, quickly dampening the sheet below him.

“Do we have any left-over clothing?” Blaine wondered aloud, already moving to slip Sebastian’s arms from his jacket sleeves. He rolled him onto his side, pulling both his jacket and ruined shirt from where it was trapped beneath him, then removing the other arm from the sleeves, dropping them with a wet ‘plop’ beside him.

A soft bundle made contact with the back of his head, catching on his shoulders where he’d been leaning over to debate removing Sebastian’s trousers—it sometimes made the others uncomfortable, recipients of the treatment and crew members alike, but Santana wouldn’t care and it really would make Sebastian more comfortable. It wasn’t like he was going to do anything. Blaine preferred his relationships to be consensual. Blaine had therefore never experienced a relationship in his life.

“Thank you, Santana,” he addressed the woman from beneath the shirt draped over his head. Santana was seemingly content in pretending to ignore the process, back to leaning against the ladder and casually examining her nails. She waited until he had slid Sebastian’s pants off and wrestled him into the new clothes Santana had tossed him, luckily only the slightest bit big on him, before she moved, coming to his side as he was pulling the sheets up to cover Sebastian.

Reaching out, she pulled him further towards the forecastle, her sharp eyes watching Sebastian for any hint of consciousness.

“We need to talk, Blaine,” she stated, no room for disagreement in her tone. Blaine fidgeted uncomfortably; his name meant she was serious. She probably wanted to talk about the same thing Tina had tried to corner him about earlier. It was the same thing that made Wes and David exchange such worried glances when they thought no one could see them. The same thing causing a growing feeling of concern that Blaine had been trying to ignore for the past few years, focusing on just making it through and getting out.

There was no avoiding Santana, though, so Blaine let out a sigh and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, “I know.” He tried to meet her eyes, but his gaze skittered around instead, to her face, to the innards of the ship, to Sebastian resting just 5 or so feet away. He took new notice of the way his shirt was sticking uncomfortably to him and the thick feeling of silence that weighed heavy in the air below deck, the only sound the muffled drumming of the rain above their heads. Instead of lessening the hush, it only seemed to add to the oppressive weight.

“He’s going to try to get you to stay,” Santana’s voice cut through Blaine’s discomfort and struck a blow that froze him to the core. He had feared it was coming, but it still caught him unawares. His eyes went wide and fixed on her face. There was no hint of a lie or doubt. Santana wouldn’t do that to him, not with this; they all knew Blaine’s story. They all knew how keenly he felt the approaching end of his sentence. He pursed his lips and took a calming breath through his nose.

“What?” he asked, voice smaller than he would have liked and shaking despite his attempts to rein in his emotions. As long as the thought had remained unspoken in his head, he could pretend it was just an irrational fear brought on by his impending freedom. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Santana would be the one to confront him about it despite his obvious desire for avoidance. She had a big heart, but she never let the possibility of hurting someone prevent her from speaking the truth. Especially when it was something that could later come back to bite someone she cared about in the ass.

It didn’t mean he didn’t feel broadside, though.

Santana’s gaze softened and she looked away, dark eyes darting to the side before he saw her jaw set and she looked back at him. “Captain Fokke is going to try to get you to swear into his service—for real, this time. Forever.”

Blaine’s mind was spinning, cut loose and luffing wildly in the hurricane of this abrupt reveal of a reality he’d been trying to avoid. He spun away from Santana, fists clenching at his sides as he tried to contain his unfurling panic and draw in all the arguments he’d come up with in denial of this very claim.

“I’ll just say no, then,” Blaine said, a little desperately, like it could possibly be that easy. He couldn’t look at Santana; if he saw pity, or worse, empathy, in her eyes right now, he just might break. “It has to be a willing oath. He can’t force me. He doesn’t have anyone to use against me.” _He loves me. He’ll understand. He’ll let me go because he cares about me._

His father had sold him into slavery. His mother was dead. Who knew where his brother even was. Everyone Blaine loved was on this ship and already a part of the crew—there was nothing more Fokke could do to them. Well, almost everyone was on the _Dutchman_ , but Blaine didn’t allow himself to think of what might never be.  

“That’s true,” Santana acknowledged, wrapping her arms around herself as if she had to hold herself back from going to him; it was an unsettling display of vulnerability from her that sent Blaine’s nerves skittering again, forcing him to pace within the now claustrophobic confines of the cabin.

Sebastian stirred as Blaine passed him, drawing him to a stop as he stared down at the still unconscious boy and the rest of what Santana wasn’t saying hit him.

“He’s getting worse,” Blaine realized, turning back to her, silently begging her to tell him he had come to the wrong conclusion. She said nothing. Stumbling over, Blaine sank heavily onto the bunk across from where Sebastian lay, heedless of his still wet clothes and whoever’s bed this might be. His posture slumped and his eyes filmed over with tears, a truly pitiful expression on his face as he looked back to the Latina still standing near the ladder. “But _why_?” Why Blaine? Why was Captain Fokke so vehement about his protection? Why was Blaine special? How was the Captain targeting people? Why was he doing _any_ of what he was doing?

Santana closed the distance between them quickly, taking a seat beside him to press tightly against his side. She took his hand and squeezed. “I don’t know, Warbler, it’s not like you’re that impressive.” Blaine smiled a little at the inclusion of the nickname, gifted from a bubbly Siren that Blaine had sang with on one adventure years ago. It was a happy memory, though perhaps bittersweet now for Santana. “You’re a mediocre sailor, at best, and your face isn’t doing us any favors at attracting willing help. But then, you’re not ugly enough that people want to do the world a favor by removing you from it.”

She bumped her shoulder into his own, her focus on their hands. Blaine intertwined their fingers and gave a squeeze in thanks. This was too much to figure out right now, and they didn’t even have half of the pieces to the puzzle.

“I never understood why he made that deal with my father.” Blaine felt Santana tense next to him, but he kept his eyes on their hands even as she pulled away so she could look him in the face. The whole crew knew his story, but that didn’t mean he ever talked about it. “I was eight. What use could he possibly have with an eight year old landlubber?” He gave a wet sounding laugh. “I was useless. Worse than useless. I think he thought he was protecting me, but it just looks like he was rewarding that behavior. I don’t understand what he was thinking.” Blaine shook his head, “I’ve spent so much time not understanding anything that goes on aboard this _damned_ ship, but it didn’t matter after a while because I was getting out. I was getting out, Santana, I was supposed to be getting out, he can’t keep me here.”

Santana’s arms wrapped tightly around him as Blaine curled in on himself, hunched over to an uncomfortable degree with the force of his sobs wracking his frame.

“We’ll figure something out, Blaine,” Santana whispered fiercely in his ear, “I swear to you, you will not have to swear service to that _gilipollas prepotente. We will figure this out_.”

Blaine could only nod, a small spark of hope flaring up in his chest despite his continued tears; he truly believed Santana could do anything she set her mind to determinedly enough. When it came to those she loved, Santana would sail through the very eye of a hurricane to help them. Despite everything she said to the contrary, Blaine knew she loved him.

“Thank you, Tana,” Blaine whispered to her. She gave him one last full body squeeze before releasing him, rubbing the remnants of tears from his face with surprising gentleness.

“We’d better get back up there; the Captain will be looking for you, at least.” With a final onceover, Santana nodded in satisfaction and stood up. “Plus, we both know these are for the ladies.” She shamelessly groped her—he was gay, not blind—impressive chest, smirking lewdly down at Blaine, who turned scarlet. “Not that you would find it hard to say no to this, would you? You prefer that well-endowment a little lower.”

“Santana!” Blaine squeaked, his face darkening even further. Still blushing furiously as Santana shot him a knowing look, Blaine threw a pointed glance at Sebastian, hissing, “Not where people can hear you!” The crew was more or less accepting of his attraction to men, but newcomers were always questionable.

Santana cackled and swung gracefully onto the ladder, ascending quickly and disappearing above deck, leaving Blaine alone to take just a moment to gather himself.

He took a deep breath, his face gradually cooling as reality settled back in. Glancing around the forecastle, Blaine took in the cramped bunks lining the walls and the expanded cabin, stretching into what was once the hold. It may not be the only home Blaine had ever known, but it was the only one he really remembered. It wasn’t the real world, though, and Blaine meant that quite literally oftentimes. All he wanted was to get away and just _live_ , for once in his life.

With a sigh, Blaine readjusted the bandana on his head and stood. He leaned over Sebastian and pulled the blanket up over the still sleeping man, before heading towards the ladder himself and climbing slowly, fixing a smile on his face. Time to see where the Captain would take them next.

He had to shade his eyes as he lifted the hatch away to climb back onto the deck; with the frenzy of thoughts overtaking his mind, he hadn’t even noticed that the storm outside had abated. The ominous clouds were now a fair distance behind them as they sailed with good speed towards where the sun was breaking through to show blue skies.

The rest of the crew was leisurely attending their duties or lounging on the deck out of the way of those working, squeezing out whatever excess water they could from their clothing, smoking, and laughing at each other.

Captain Fokke was near the stern, standing next to the wheel and speaking with the Master, Santiago, so Blaine headed further up towards the bow where he could see Mike leaning over the rail near the shrouds.

“Mike!” he called, attracting his attention as he approached the other Asian boy, hurrying his steps to close the distance more quickly, “Do you know where we’re going?” Blaine knew what he was hoping for, but he also knew it was likely a fool’s hope.

“Port. Boston.” Blaine’s heart rose before sinking, and Mike gave him a sympathetic glance. Blaine was rarely allowed ashore these days. “I think the Captain might have another letter,” he continued in a more subdued tone. Blaine’s heart sank even further. Mike left the conversation there, but squeezed Blaine’s arm in comfort. There was no fooling Mike—they were too similar in their tendency to hide hurt with smiles. However, Mike wouldn’t push him to talk if he didn’t want to, which was why Blaine had approached him instead of Tina. He couldn’t handle an interrogation after what Santana had revealed. Rather, the pair stood silently next to each other, lost in their own thoughts as the ocean seemed to stretch out forever before them.

“Blaine!” Captain Fokke’s voice cut through their quiet camaraderie, making both boys wince minutely. Exchanging a slight grimace with Mike, Blaine pushed away from the rail and headed towards the wheel where the Captain was waiting.

This would decide whether he went ashore or not, he could already tell.

“Captain,” Blaine saluted on his arrival, waiting at tense attention for Fokke to cast his verdict. The Captain simply looked at him, eyes searching his face, although Blaine couldn’t fathom what he hoped to find. He just held himself as tall as he could and kept his gaze steady. Fokke made a small noise in the back of his throat and nodded once, shortly, before looking back out over his ship and her crew.

Blaine felt lost, “Sir?” The Captain continued staring straight ahead, and Blaine fought not to fidget.

Finally, as the silence dragged on, Captain Fokke spoke, “We’re sailing to Boston. We’ll be outside the Harbor in a day’s time.” He looked back at Blaine, “You will be allowed ashore, if you so wish.” A rare smile twitched across his lips, the warmth in it tempered by Blaine’s wariness for what it would mean for him in the future. Blaine wasn’t naturally given to suspicion, but time and experience—and Santana’s earlier affirmation—had taught him caution. Captain Fokke’s care and regard hadn’t been purely positive since a young woman named Felicity had called his name from amongst the crew of a ship carrying one doomed soul. No one knew what she had told the Captain, as they held conference in his quarters, but he hadn’t reappeared on the deck for two days and she had left, red-eyed but with her head held high.

Even so, the distrust Blaine felt now couldn’t quench the happiness blooming in his chest. He hadn’t been ashore in close to a year, and he was not only allowed to leave the ship, but he would going into Boston! Blaine didn’t stop his own beaming smile from bursting across his face as he nodded his appreciation at the Captain, “Thank you, sir!” It may have had an ulterior motive, but Blaine wouldn’t argue with it. Boston. Blaine’s heart leapt.

Fokke’s smile grew in the face of Blaine’s response, and he clapped a hand on Blaine’s shoulder in a paternal gesture, dismissing him as he then turned back to Santiago to discuss shore leave and shifts. Blaine would find out from the Midshipmen, Wes and David, later when he would have his turn, but for now, he saluted the Captain and took his leave, practically skipping back to where Mike was waiting, laughing at how ridiculous Blaine looked.

Blaine didn’t care. He could look ridiculous. He would work through the night to get every spare bit of wind that could carry them there faster if he could. Boston. He hadn’t been to the _Bell in Hand_ in what felt like years. He hoped nothing had changed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appendix style notes:  
> • Despiértate: Wake up  
> • The mouthy young woman they abandon is a 29 year old Theodosia Burr Alston. She was lost at sea on December 31, 1812, and no one knows what happened to her. There are a lot of theories, some of which say she survived, but I went with either pirates or shipwreck so that the Dutchman could find her.  
> • Zipacna: evil Mayan mountain god with underworld connections. He’s giant and, I’d assume, heavy  
> • Gilipollas prepotente—arrogant asshole  
> • The bubbly siren is Brittany


	2. Chapter 2

Boston’s skyline was just visible in the distance as Blaine climbed down the rope ladder to the dinghy they’d be rowing into the Harbor, excitement electrifying his nerve endings and stretching his mouth into an irrepressible grin. Flute music drifted down from the stern of the ship in a purposeful and almost haunting tune, and small waves sent the dinghy rocking gently at the end of the ladder.

Blaine was one of the last to board, and he took a seat next to Wes who was checking over a list and muttering to himself. Santana, Sam, Mike, Tina and Puck rounded out the rest of Blaine’s friends going ashore with the first group, and he grinned broadly around at all of them, even as Puck complained about going to the Bell instead of the Dragon. Blaine knew Puck didn’t really care; he was just mad that Quinn was placed with the second shift of leave. The groups were kept small so that some of the crew could watch the ship, and so that they didn’t attract too much attention. Other members of the crew filled in the rest of the seats, rounding out their party of 12, but the Bell wasn’t the most popular tavern amongst them all due to its policy of not serving anything other than ale, so the others would break away and go elsewhere once they landed.

Finally, everyone was aboard and they pushed away from the ship, the melody of the flute following them as they rowed their way into Boston Harbor. It was a quick trip, almost no time passing before they were docked the small boat and clambered onto the wooden dock, stumbling slightly as they grew accustomed to having steady land below their feet again.

Blaine felt like he was going to burst at the seams from the nervous and excited energy thrumming through him. It had been years since he had been allowed to take a shore leave, and thus it had been years since Blaine had been to the Bell.

The group broke apart until the seven of them were left huddled together. Wes looked over his list once more before pocketing it, turning back to the rest of them.

“I have a few supplies I need to pick up for the ship, least of which is food,” Wes cast Blaine a glance. Blaine shot him back a sheepish grin—15 years and he sometimes still felt self-conscious about the fact they really only needed to buy food for him. “I’ll put in the orders and have the second shift pick them up with David, then meet you all at the tavern. The Bell, yes?” At this, everyone gave Blaine knowing looks and he felt his face burn right up to the tips of his ears; he thought he was subtle about it, but his friends liked to mock him endlessly about how obvious he was.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Blaine said, lifting his chin and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Tina snorted, and Puck and Santana outright laughed. Wes and Mike gave him pitying looks while trying to hide their smiles. “Oh, shut up.”

Sam smacked him on the shoulder, laughing as well, and they set off down the Long Wharf towards State Street, jostling each other and joking as a motley of other sailors, merchants, and Bostonians mingled about on the wharf and crowded the streets. Closer to the wharfs, the ruckus was louder and more bawdy, as those with the time frequented the taverns and pubs scattered around the area. The streets didn’t grow much less crowded as they made their way up State Street towards Faneuil Hall and Congress Street, but the people were better dressed and far more women were mingling.

Blaine could see Tina adjusting her skirts; she was always a little uncomfortable when she had to wear the layers and longer skirts, more accustomed to trousers or material allowing far more maneuverability. Santana, like always, appeared confident and above it all, as assured of herself in this fashion as in her trousers. Her dress was lower cut, and Blaine had noticed numerous men casting rather conspicuous glances at her cleavage—many of their eyes getting caught on the choker of rubies about her neck, as well. Impervious to it all, Santana strode on.

Mike stepped up next to Tina and threaded his arm through hers at her side; the smile she turned on him in response was blinding. Mike tugged at her elbow and pulled her away from the group towards where the Market was, “We’ll meet you all there later. Milady and I want to take this opportunity for a walk. Tell Wes if he gets there before us that I can help him with whatever supplies he was able to get early.” With a tip of his cap and a giggle from Tina, the Asian couple broke away from the group, Mike leaning down to whisper in Tina’s ear.

The remaining four made quick work of the distance to the tavern, and their reduced group made it easier to find a table to claim. Since opening the door, Blaine had been craning his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the bar, but it was difficult to see through or above the crowd.

A flash of styled brown hair caught his eye and his head jerked in that direction. It wasn’t who he was looking for, causing a flare of disappointment in his gut. It petered out to make room for confusion, and Blaine’s brow furrowed. It looked like Jeremiah, who had come ashore with them but took off as soon as they’d landed. He didn’t get a chance to investigate, though, as Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him towards a table.

Suddenly, the crowd parted just so and there he was. Blaine’s breath caught and his smile split his face wide, any thought of Jeremiah vanishing from his mind. He didn’t have time to call out, for at that moment Kurt turned and caught sight of Blaine. At least, that was what Blaine hoped had he’d seen, because he desperately wanted the smile that lit up Kurt’s face and the clear happiness in his expression to be for him.

“Blaine!” he heard called over the rumble of conversation and watched as Kurt began pushing his way through the patrons, Blaine’s smile growing with every foot closer he came. He ignored his friends sniggering around him, his eyes fixed on the man who had somehow become even more beautiful and handsome in the three years since Blaine had last been able to lay eyes on him.

Puck slapped him hard on the back, jarring Blaine out of his rapturous focus, “I’m going to go get us all a round of ale. Santana, help me carry it.” With knowing smirks, the two left Blaine and Sam at the table just as Kurt arrived.

“Hi, Kurt,” Blaine breathed, his mouth softening around the edges as he finally had a better view of Kurt’s face and all its changes. His cheekbones were sharper, his frame fuller, his skin freckled, his jaw delicate but defined. His eyes, though, his eyes were the same bright blue and they slowly traced Blaine’s features as if Kurt were taking in Blaine the same way he was taking in Kurt.

“Hi, Blaine,” Kurt’s voice was breathy, too, but the same clear musicality was present as the first time they’d met five years ago.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hummel.” Sam was clearly laughing at them as he cut through their preoccupation with each other. Both boys flushed, Blaine’s eyes darting down to the table and his hand darting to the back of his neck while Kurt’s hand fluttered up to the tie around his neck and he looked at Sam, thought Blaine was pleased when Kurt’s eyes kept darting back to him.

“Mr. Evans! Hello, welcome back!” Kurt greeted, a faint crease appearing between his eyebrows as curiosity took over his expression, “Sorry to be rude, I was just shocked to see Blaine. I didn’t expect it.”

Blaine’s smile faded a little at that; it had been a long time since he had been back. Maybe he had misinterpreted Kurt’s greeting? Sam’s elbow semi-discreetly made contact with his side, an attempt to forestall the spiral he could clearly guess Blaine was starting.

“First, it’s Sam, I keep telling you. You call Blaine by his first name; you can do the same to me. Although, I’m sure it is a little bit different.” Sam smiled genially and Kurt blushed, which cheered Blaine immensely. Blushes were good signs. “And we weren’t sure until the other day that Blaine would be able to come ashore either. It was exciting for all of us.”

Blaine felt a warm sense of friendship and gratitude grow again for Sam, but Kurt’s confusion didn’t abate.

“Oh, I know it’s always a last minute decision. I never know when to expect any of you—your ship has the most unpredictable schedule of anything that comes into the Harbor.” Kurt waved a hand vaguely as he took a seat, “Only, I didn’t expect to see you because I just got your letter, Blaine. You didn’t need to write one, unless you’re only here for a short time and won’t have a chance to catch up?” Kurt’s voice took on a tone of hesitation, a little unsure, as if he was preparing himself for disappointment.

“Of course I want to talk with you, Kurt, it’s just…I didn’t write a letter this time. I wanted to see you in person.” Kurt’s face lit up before confusion once again clouded it over. Blaine and Sam leaned forward, Blaine forcing out the question, “Who delivered the letter?” All his friends had either arrived with him or were back on the ship. He wasn’t sure anyone else even knew of his… _relationship_ with Kurt.

“I don’t know his name. I thought I’d seen him before with others from your ship, and the envelope and the seal are the same. It looked like you had broken it, though—there’s an imprint of a crack through the middle.” Kurt shared, carefully reaching into the inner pocket of his coat and pulling out a letter as if he sensed every word filled Blaine with dread.

Blaine shakily extended his hand, “Can I see it?” He could see Sam frowning out of the corner of his eye, a serious expression on his normally jovial face. Kurt paused a moment, the gravity of the situation appearing to hit him although he couldn’t possibly _understand_ , and he slowly held out the letter, placing it in Blaine’s hand.

Blaine’s heart sank as he turned it over. He recognized that seal. Kurt wasn’t wrong (not that he doubted him—Blaine had sent him enough notes over the past 5 years), Blaine’s did have the same marks. However, this one was its pair and it belonged, not to Blaine, but to one Captain Bernard Fokke. The Captain had gifted one of a set to Blaine upon the anniversary of his first year aboard the _Dutchman_ , and Blaine had seen the distinctive design marred by what was clearly a crack in the stamp itself on other letters. From what he understood, the pair was a gift the Captain had bought for the woman he loved, and one broke when he hurled it into a wall at the news of her death.

“Sam,” he said quietly, turning the letter over in his hands, fingers tracing the red wax holding it closed, then following the loops of _Kurt Hummel_ scrawled legibly across the front. Sam nodded, his frown more severe now. Kurt looked back and forth between the two, his posture straightening in a way that Blaine knew meant he was becoming nervous and wanted to hide it.

All of the lightness Blaine had felt since he learned he would get to see Kurt slowly drowned in the rising horror, weighed down like it had been dipped in tar. He dragged his eyes up to Kurt’s face, “Is there a place we can go to talk? A backroom?” Blaine paused, then realized, “Do you mind if we’re there when you open this? I think…I think it might be important.”

Kurt swallowed hard and nodded, “You seem to have a better idea of what that letter contains than I do.” The three of them rose together just as Santana and Puck came back, each holding a pair of glasses.

Santana quickly took in the mood, drastically different than when they’d left, and her eyes fell on the letter still gripped in Blaine’s fist. She set the drinks on the table with a _clunk_ and let out a bitter laugh, staring at Blaine, “We’re gonna need more than just ale.” She scoffed, “Maybe we should’ve gone to the Dragon.”

Blaine wanted nothing more than to down half of the drink she had brought, but he needed a clear head and the crew liked to tease him how quickly alcohol affected him. Puck didn’t have the same compunctions and chugged close to the full mug in one go. Santana seemed tempted to do the same.

“Is it Rachel on the bar today?” Kurt and Rachel usually worked together, so it was a fair guess. Puck grunted an affirmative. “Sam, go tell Miss Berry that if Mike, Tina, and Wes come looking for us, we’ll be in the back room. We’ll talk there. Kurt?” He gestured for Kurt to lead the way and grabbed one of the mugs Santana had brought. Sam broke away from them and began pushing his way to the bar.

“Bring more ale,” Puck called after Sam as he finished off his own and abandoned the empty glass on the table, shouldering his way through the crowd to trail after Kurt and Blaine.

Kurt led them to a back room filled with some boxes stacked in a corner and a table with 6 chairs around it, shutting the door to cut out the noise of the tavern.

Santana, Blaine, and Kurt each claimed a seat while Puck prowled along the edges of the room and occasionally paused to take long drags from Sam’s ale. Blaine placed the letter at the center of the table, and they all stared at it.

“You should open it, Kurt. It’s for you,” Blaine said, finally, nudging the harmless looking envelope across the table. Kurt took a deep breath and reached for the letter, quickly breaking the wax seal and pulling out one sheet of parchment, folded into three.

He unfolded it and began to read, “Mr. Hummel. I hope this letter finds you in good health. My reputation may precede me, but I am sure you are unfamiliar with my name. I am Captain Bernard Fokke, and I command the ship you may know as the _Flying Dutchman_. How I have heard of you is a tale for another time. At present, I would like to extend to you an offer to join my crew. Contrary to common folklore, or so rumor has reached me, one does not need die to be in my service; however, the report of immortality has not been falsified. Should this benefit not entice you to come aboard, I extend to you furthermore the knowledge of a certain shipwright in Gloucester,” at this, Kurt’s hands began to shake and his face paled dramatically. His voice stuttered momentarily before he continued, “a…a certain shipwright in Gloucester. I am confident you are aware of whom I speak. There is a creature under my command currently abiding in Gloucester Harbor. It is quite tame at the moment, but it is a finicky being and quite prone to unexpected movements. It would certainly be a shame were any unfortunate event to transpire. It behooves you to carefully consider my offer. I eagerly anticipate your answer. A crew member shall be awaiting a response at the end of the Long Wharf in Boston, on the date of the 26 September 1817. Your obedient servant, Capt. Fokke.”

Silence fell over the room, save for an emphatic “ _Fuck_ ” from Puck and quiet Spanish cursing from Santana. Kurt set the letter back on the table and continued to stare at it. Blaine, too, focused on the letter and refused to look up, his thoughts once again tossed into a maelstrom of conflicting emotions and theories.

They all jumped when the door squeaked open, an upbeat drinking song drifting in as Sam shouldered past the door with more drinks in his hand, followed by Tina, Mike, and Wes.

“They found me as I was talking to Rachel. I couldn’t fill them in out there without making her worried. What did we miss?” Sam shrugged as he set the various glasses down on the table and fell into one of the remaining seats. Wes and Tina quickly filled the other two, Mike choosing instead to stand next to Tina, his arm resting around her shoulders.

Blaine heart clenched as Kurt steeled himself and began to close off his emotions. His back straightened and his blue eyes burned cold as ice. Even his voice had iron behind it as he said, “Your _captain_ is threatening my father to make me join your crew.” Blaine physically ached to grab his hand, fighting the urge by flexing his own hand, empty, beneath the table. Kurt’s eyes flashed, “I think it’s time you all told me what, exactly, it is you do.” He glared around at them all and finally pinned his gaze on Blaine.

However, the first one to say anything was Wes, and Blaine was relieved to not have that hurt focused on him anymore.

“We are members of the crew of the _Flying Dutchman_ , captained by Bernard Fokke. Until recently, our purpose has been to ferry those dead and dying souls at sea to Fiddler’s Green and what waits beyond,” he stated in his typical matter-of-fact tone. Kurt’s eyes widened in shock.

“But…I thought…” he stuttered out, seemingly unable or unwilling to follow the thought to its conclusion.

“We’re all dead,” Santana cut in, bluntly. Kurt sucked in a breath and Blaine clenched his hands into fists. Eyes shimmering, Kurt stared at Santana before switching over to Blaine, his own hands still gripping the letter tightly on top of the table.

“All of you…and he wants me to…?” He again couldn’t bear to finish the sentence, as if vocalizing it would make it true. His eyes begged Blaine to deny it. Giving in finally, Blaine practically lunged across the table to grab Kurt’s hands as he pulled them back towards himself in the silence following his unspoken question.

“ _No_ , Kurt,” Blaine spit out desperately. “Well, not entirely. All of them, the rest of the crew,” Blaine shrugged his shoulders, reluctant to give up his hold on Kurt to gesture at the others in the room. Now that he had Kurt within his grasp, he didn’t ever want to let go, “they were all dying when the captain found them and they swore to serve aboard the _Dutchman_. I’m still alive, technically, although I haven’t had much opportunity to truly experience it, yet…” Remembrance struck and Blaine flinched backwards. He attempted to pull his hands back so he could wrap his arms around himself, but Kurt held tightly, his wide eyes locked on Blaine’s face.

Since Kurt refused to let go, Blaine tried to take comfort in his touch, shoving down the feeling of impending doom that flared when he recalled his own situation. He took a deep breath. “He thinks he can protect you. It’s why he’s trying to keep me, too.”

Several things happened following his declaration; Puck turned sharply and punched a wall, Santana quietly drained her beer, Sam sank his head into hands and tangled his fingers in his hair, Mike squeezed Tina’s shoulders as she let out a broken “ _Blaine_ ”, and Wes remained blank-faced but gave away his emotions in his clenched jaw. Blaine ignored them in favor of watching Kurt, who clearly didn’t understand.

“What do you mean, Blaine?” Kurt asked, tone pleading. Blaine gathered what courage he had. He’d always wanted and planned to tell Kurt about his past out of the hope for a future, but he also imagined the conversation happening once all of this _was_ the past. He locked eyes with Kurt, squeezed his hands, and pretended they were alone in the room.

“When I was eight years old, my father made a deal with Captain Fokke. He doesn’t have many powers, but he has picked up some artifacts and tricks over the years. I don’t know how he accomplished it, it doesn’t really matter, but he granted my father a ship, a crew, and a command high in the Navy. In return, my father gave him me.” Blaine swallowed around the lump in his throat, and Kurt let out a small, wounded noise. The rest were silent. Blaine took a breath, looked back at Kurt to ground himself in his eyes, and continued, “I wasn’t dead, so I continued to grow. To age. After 15 years, I was meant to be relieved of my service. It has been over 14 and a half years, and he doesn’t want to let me go. He…he doesn’t think the world is safe anymore. He thinks that by staying on the ship with him, he can protect me. And other innocent, good, living people,” he added, nodding at Kurt.

The weight of Blaine’s words fell heavy around the room, and Kurt slowly processed everything that was happening. It was hard for Blaine to even comprehend what it all meant; he couldn’t imagine what it was like for Kurt.

“He’s not getting either one of you,” Santana broke in fiercely, slamming her hand down on the table and halfway rising from her seat. Kurt and Blaine jumped, looking around at the others, their determined faces staring right back. Wes, on the other hand, appeared thoughtful.

“I may have an idea to solve this problem,” he said contemplatively, then muttered, “I wish David was here for this…” He gave a little cough, and sat up straighter, folding his hands in front of him and looking imperiously around the room. “David and I have been discussing this for a while. We’re not the only ones who have had growing concerns regarding the Captain’s recent…decision-making.” Wes gave a pointed glance around at Blaine, Santana, Mike, and Tina. Sam looked mildly offended to have been excluded, but Blaine knew that while Sam had seemed to pick up on the underlying tension during some of their missions, he didn’t entirely understand the cause.

Wes continued, “Some of the older members of the crew, who have leadership positions and who know more about the Captain, have taken to discussing the turn of events quietly, but always, it seems, within earshot of either David or I. They spoke of how Captain Fokke originally gained his immortality and the task bestowed upon him. They also mentioned how a mutiny would have to occur, and what is necessary to usurp the captainship.”

He fixed his gaze on Blaine, “I think they wanted us to hear. I think they had someone specific in mind.” Blaine felt trapped under Wes’s words, pinned like a butterfly in the focus of his eyes. Electric panic began to skate across his skin. “The only way to displace the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ is for a living soul to kill the current captain and take his place.”

The pieces fell heavily into place in Blaine’s mind, and he felt his heart stop in his chest before it pounded loudly in his ears, each beat reinforcing what Wes was insinuating. _A living soul aboard the_ Dutchman, _a living soul close to Wes and David, a living soul to kill the Captain and steal his immortality_. A living soul to sign his life away. Forever.

Shouts of outrage broke through the shock settling into Blaine’s bones, everyone around the table on their feet and yelling angrily, even the normally contained Mike. The only ones to remain seated were Kurt, Blaine, and Wes. Kurt seemed overwhelmed and close to tears, while Wes was unnaturally calm for someone who had just dropped such a heavy load on them all.

As the enraged shouting continued, Wes tried to gesture for them to settle down and was summarily ignored. Visibly irritated, he banged his fist hard on the table three times, drawing silence. Before he could even open his mouth to say something, Mike cut him off, voice quiet but lined with a clear fury, “How could you even suggest that, Wes? You are one of his best friends.”

Wes bristled at that, lips going thin and shoulders tensing—the accusation was more damning coming from Mike than from any of the others. Blaine would have felt touched if horror hadn’t been overriding his every emotion.

“If you would _listen_ , you would know that I am _not_ suggesting that,” he leveled his own accusing glares around at them all, as if offended they thought he was capable of such things, “Blaine’s like a brother to me. As sad as I will be to see him leave us, I am nothing but happy for him. I am doing _everything_ I can to help him. What I _am_ saying is that this could be our solution. We need to mutiny, and we need someone to replace the Captain. Some of us have been dead for too long to have solid contacts amongst the living, but we all possess some connection to _someone_. We need to think of a sailor, preferably one with leadership experience, who would be willing.”

Silence fell yet again, tension easing slightly as relief trickled through Blaine. Everyone settled back into their seats, surprised but thoughtful expressions on their faces. Blaine cast a glance at Kurt; he appeared blindsided by everything. Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hands, their fingers still intertwined and resting on the table, drawing Kurt’s attention. He gave him a small smile, hoping to reassure him. If it was the last thing he did, he would protect Kurt. Nothing would harm him, not while Blaine was around.

“Anyone got something useful? Cause I sure as hell don’t have a clue who would be willing to basically die for us,” Puck scoffed, his face dark. “Kurt should just run for the hills, take his dad with him, and get the hell outta here.”

Wes shook his head, “That only solves one problem. Yes, this letter,” he waved his hand towards it, “is forcing our hand, but this has been a long time coming. We just never knew how to do it. Now we have a start.” He stood up from his seat, casting his gaze around, “We’re all in shock. This is a lot to process at once.  I suggest we take time to think it over and meet back by the wharf in a few hours. Mike? You said you could help collect some of the supplies?”

They slowly broke off in small groups and pairs, Mike, Tina, and Wes leaving together, followed by Puck storming out. Santana paused in the doorway, fierceness still lining every one of her features, a blazing look directed at Blaine.

“I promised, Warbler,” she said, and then she was gone and it was just Blaine and Kurt. It was exactly what Blaine had wanted since he heard the word _Boston_ but so incredibly wrong. He stared at their interlocked fingers and wondered what happened to his simple hopes for the day.

“Come with me,” Kurt said as he stood and tugged Blaine’s hand. Blaine rose, heavy with the weight of it all, and followed him without a word. Kurt led him out the door, dropping his hand as they crossed the threshold, but resolutely continuing through the crowd and out of the pub. The sun almost blinded Blaine and a cool wind swept down the street and cut through the stifling humidity of the city, carrying with it the smell of the salt air. The city seemed too vast and too crowded all at once, everything pressing in on Blaine, but he kept his eyes on Kurt as Kurt walked slightly ahead of him, leading them away from the water with determination.

Blaine finally understood when he caught sight of the Park Street Church. He quickened his step so that his arm brushed against Kurt’s just ever so slightly. Kurt shot him a small smile and Blaine returned it honestly.

They stepped into the Commons, everything green and colorful, flowers in full bloom and trees heavy with leaves. Blaine saw a few squirrels chasing each other the trunk of one of the trees, and his smile grew. He had written in his letters to Kurt about how funny he found them and their antics, about how different they were than anything he saw at sea.

When they were separated, Blaine questioned what they were. He would lie in his bunk on the ship with only the stash of Kurt’s letters that he saved up, delivered when one of the crew found Kurt during shore leave, and craft his own letters to send when they were in a port other than Boston. He didn’t have any experience in these matters, and when they were apart for too long, he would second-guess if he was reading something into the letters that wasn’t there. Who was he to really know if the word choice was one between good friends or lovers? He couldn’t claim to truly be a part of this society; his manners and understanding were a mix of what his mother had taught him prior to her death and those he had learned from a crew whose lifetimes spanned centuries.

Here, though, when they were together and Blaine could see the affection in the shy glances Kurt shot at him, the clear restraint from touching him that Kurt exercised, the indications that Kurt remembered little details from Blaine’s letters as if Kurt, too, repeatedly turned to the words on the hard nights when he needed to feel closer…Blaine knew what they had was real.

His face fell again. He had hoped that something could finally come of their feelings now that his sentence was ending. He didn’t know what, but when he entertained hazy dreams of what his life would be like, Kurt was always clear in some form. It wouldn’t have been easy, but it would have been possible.

It could have been.

Blaine felt his eyes stinging and a chill sank deep into his bones despite the warm August weather.

“It has to be me,” he whispered, as if speaking it any louder could give it more power to utterly destroy his life.

Kurt gave a full-body flinch before he turned and strode up the hill where there were more trees and fewer people. Blaine followed. When they were out of sight and earshot of anyone nearby, Kurt rounded on Blaine and said a simple, “No.”

“Kurt—“ Blaine began, raising his hands in a plea.

“ _No_ , Blaine,” Kurt cut him off vehemently, “I may have only learned the whole story just now, but I _know_ you. I know how much you want to get off that ship. I know how much you want _freedom_. You’re scared, I know that too, but you want this.” His voice got quieter then, less sure, “You want…you want _me_ , Blaine.”

Blaine sucked in a gasp and held it back from becoming a sob, “ _Kurt_ , it has to be me. There’s no one else. I have to do it.” _For you_ , he didn’t add. _For me_ , he didn’t think.

“There has to be another way. One of the others will think of someone.” Kurt’s eyes were glittering with tears, but they had yet to fall. “Wes or David or Santana or Sam…” he trailed off at Blaine’s laugh, high and thin and wrapped around a moan.

“Or they won’t. Even if they do, can we really ask that of them? To give up everything? It has to be me. I have nothing—no skills, no money, no freedom.” Kurt let out a distressed sound, but Blaine rolled on, his arms jerking harshly as he tried to contain the fury and despair that sent them slicing through the air, “I’m 23 years old, Kurt. I’m too old to start an apprenticeship. I’ve never been to school. I can sing, but no tavern is going to hire me—they all want women. I don’t even remember how life on land _works_ anymore,” Blaine hands jumped to his hair and found instead the bandana. He began to pace small route, feeling caged. “Santana laughs at me every time I am allowed to go ashore, and the whole crew knows I need a babysitter, not just because Fokke often requires it, but because I get lost otherwise. I’ve been on that ship for the past 15 years. It’s all I know—I barely remember my own mother. I don’t even know if my brother is alive.” Defeat settled around his shoulders like a cape and he wrapped his arms around himself, turning back towards Kurt, “I can navigate the oceans of the world but get lost between the tavern and the blacksmith’s. The only thing I can ever reliably find is the water. The only thing I can do is sail a ship. The only confident interactions I have with people are those dead or dying.” He shrugged, “Face it, Kurt. It has to be me. Who else could do it? What else could I do?”

Blaine couldn’t look at Kurt. It hurt too much. He hadn’t told the truth. Kurt was the one thing he had to give up. And that was everything. Blaine closed his eyes against the rush of tears that were building.

“You’re lying.” Kurt’s voice was hard, but so sure. “You are trying to convince yourself you’re okay with this happening, but you’re lying to yourself. You’re giving up, Blaine!” Blaine’s eyes flew to Kurt, now much closer. Kurt grabbed Blaine’s hand and clutched it tightly.

“We will fight for you, Blaine. You deserve to have a life, too,” he said, determined, an emotion Blaine hesitated to name burning in his gaze.

Blaine wanted to believe him with every fiber of his being, but life had thus far taught him nothing was fair and oftentimes, people got precisely what they didn’t deserve.

“I don’t have a choice,” he replied, voice soft.

Kurt tugged on his hand to get Blaine to look back at him, “If you had a choice, what would you do, Blaine? _What would you do_?” Kurt was desperate now. Blaine choked back tears and couldn’t bring himself to pull away. His hands rose to frame Kurt’s face.

“I would stay with you. That’s all I want. I would stay with you forever, if I could.” Kurt’s eyes finally overflowed, but he couldn’t contain a smile from forming. It took almost insurmountable amounts of will power to draw back then, but Blaine withdrew his hands and stepped back, away from Kurt. “But people are dying; they have been for years now. You’re not the first one to receive a letter, and he’s so quick to feel betrayed by them. He’ll keep threatening people’s lives all in the belief he’s doing good if no one does anything. If I can do this, I need to. I’m so sorry, Kurt, I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t bother stopping himself from crying any longer as he turned fully and practically ran away, back towards the ship that had been his prison these past 15 years, the ship that would hold his soul forever if this worked out.

Blaine had nearly reached the end of the trees surrounding the Commons when his hand was grabbed by something with enough force to spin him around, right into the arms of the one who had caught him. Blaine blinked in shock at Kurt’s face, wet with tears but pure resolve in his eyes.

“I am _never_ saying goodbye to you,” he said fervently, and then they were kissing. The warm press of Kurt’s lips against his was like nothing Blaine had ever known, and he wondered wildly if this was what pure happiness felt like. What it _tasted_ like.

Kurt was the first to break away, looking a little breathless. Blaine’s hands hovered near his cheeks for a moment more before Kurt’s rose to grasp them and pull them down to hold against Kurt’s chest, right over his thrumming heartbeat.

“We _will_ find someone and you _will_ be free,” Kurt said with a passion that left no room for doubt. “We will.”

In the face of such determination, hope bloomed in his chest and it was all Blaine could do to nod and believe him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • The Bell in Hand is an actual bar still in existence in Boston! I’m pretty sure it’s not exactly the most popular, partly because of why I said earlier.  
> • Santana’s ruby choker: I had this whole backstory I never got to explain for her, where she was basically sold into an arranged marriage with a wealthy man who gave her that necklace. He was a massive dick and a rapist, and she slit his throat when he tried to attack her. She took the necklace and wore it as a choker as a warning cause it looks like blood. His crew caught up to her and, instead of letting them capture her, she threw herself overboard. The Dutchman caught up to her as she was drowning. Basically, Santana’s a badass and lives to be beautiful and terrifying in all things.  
> • Threat to Kurt’s dad: in 1817, there were hundreds of reports of a 100-foot long sea serpent off the coast of Gloucester. Some people still claim to see it today. It’s our very own, lesser known Nessie. Look it up!


	3. Chapter 3

Over an hour had passed since their first—and second and third and maybe a few more—kiss in the Commons, and they had walked around the city trying to think of solutions before they admitted defeat for the moment. Taking advantage of the time left ashore, they had made their way down to the water where they could be more alone.

Now they sat pressed close together on the end of Long Wharf, Blaine playing with Kurt’s fingers as he told him the whole truth of his life. Since they had met five years before, Blaine had never lied to Kurt in all their conversations and letters. He just hadn’t told him everything.

Sitting there and tracing Kurt’s lifeline, Blaine told him now.

“He wasn’t always like this,” Blaine said abruptly. He could feel Kurt’s confused gaze on him, but he didn’t look away from Kurt’s palm. “Captain Fokke. Back when I first started, he wasn’t like this. This…volatility in his judgements and beliefs…he wasn’t always like that. He was _gifted_ , not cursed, with immortality because he was such a good person. He’s over two hundred years old, and I guess he’d already started to change even before I joined the crew.” Blaine sighed, hands pausing in their movements as he looked out towards where the _Dutchman_ was hidden around the bend. “Wes says he blamed himself for the death of someone he loved. And then he couldn’t handle it being his fault, so he blamed the world.”

Quietly, he revealed the tale of a younger Captain Fokke and a pretty, kind, clever woman named Felicity Burbank. Born in the Caribbean and daughter of a doctor, the Captain met her when he appeared on the ship carrying her to the States. She was caring for another passenger who had been stricken with fever, ready to fight against Death himself to help the sick man.

Instead, she faced down his Ferryman, even while all others in the crew fled at his arrival. She didn’t win the fight, and the man still died, but she captured Captain Fokke’s interest. He had hers in return. The crew of her ship was superstitious and refused to go further with her on board, so the Captain of the _Dutchman_ jumped on the opportunity to talk more to this intriguing woman and offered her transport to wherever she wanted to go.

It took a week, and Captain Fokke fell in love. He promised to write her letters and did so for years. Sometimes he found a letter from her in return. Soon, though, the men he tried to hire to deliver the letters for Felicity began refusing to accept them, running at the sight of the _Dutchman_. Legend had spread about the ship and its association with death, and no one wanted anything to do with it.

Time passed, and Captain Fokke picked up a crew and passengers that had been involved in a shipwreck. History repeated itself as a pretty, kind, clever woman stepped forward and called out to Bernard Fokke. They disappeared into his cabin and whispers spread through the gathered sailors about who it could be and what it meant.

The two stayed in the cabin for hours, and when the girl emerged, she spoke to no one else. The Captain didn’t come out for a week. Still, Wes, Mike, and Santana had managed to piece together the story: the girl was named Grace Moore, and she was the daughter of Felicity. Her mother had gotten married and had two children, living until she was only 35 when the story of the letters of the _Flying Dutchman_ reached their home port. The citizens made the connection between Felicity Moore née Burbank and the woman in the stories, and they hung her for witchcraft.

Captain Fokke lived with the regret of her death and grew to idealize her memory, blaming the world for turning on this innocent, perfect woman. It festered in his mind, and now they were witnessing the result as he began a quest to protect the innocent and good people from the harshness of the world.

At the end of Blaine’s story, he and Kurt fell silent, brought back to the situation they both found themselves in.

“Well,” Kurt said after a minute, “It’s not exactly his fault, but hurting other people is never okay. Even if he hadn’t threatened my dad, I’d be ready to fight him.” He perked up, “I’d never have to worry about my skin again!”

Blaine huffed a laugh and pulled Kurt in for a kiss, unable to restrain himself any longer. This amazing, ridiculous man. Leaning back, he pushed their worries as far out of his mind as he could, smiling happily at Kurt. The man next to him was a much better object for his focus.

Plus, Blaine couldn’t help feeling hopeful that one of the others might have thought of something. As he snuggled in closer to Kurt’s side, pressed completely together from knee to shoulder, he thought he could trace the source of that feeling back to the little spark of happiness that had refused to dim since Kurt first kissed him. Gaze fixed on Kurt, every part of him was afire and his cheeks hurt from his beaming grin.

“That look on your face either means you were clever or indecent.” Jumping in surprise, Kurt and Blaine turned at the sound of Santana’s voice, putting a little distance between them. She stood a few feet back, smirking down at them with one hip cocked. Puck was leaning against a piling further behind her as he stared down the length of the dock.

“Indecent.” Puck said. “They’ve been acting cute together and nothing they’ve said is useful at all. Even for alone time.” Kurt and Blaine turned bright red.

“How long have you been there?” Kurt hissed, face crimson and hand clenching around Blaine’s. Blaine’s heart gave a little leap in his chest, still not used to being able to hold hands with someone. Puck shrugged and Santana’s smirk widened. They would take that as a confession.

“Wanky.”

“What’s wanky?” Tina asked, coming up the wharf next, a small bag dangling from one hand. Following her were Mike and Wes, laden with boxes. Blaine jumped to his feet and hurried over to help. Kurt rose in a more leisurely manner and watched as the three men loaded the dinghy.

“Kurt and Blaine are finally engaging in some lewd and lascivious behavior,” Santana drawled. Tina let out a squeal and started clapping. She couldn’t seem to content herself with just that and threw her arms around a shocked Kurt, who stumbled back before catching her. Mike shot a huge smile at Blaine and, while Wes’s was slightly smaller and accompanied by a raised eyebrow practically screaming a judgmental _timing?_ , it was no less affectionate.

Blaine just grinned hopelessly at them.

“I’m proud of you, boys,” Puck said, slapping Kurt on the back with enough force to make him wince. “Finally following my example.”

“I thought that’s what we were trying to prevent,” Santana snarked. Everyone but Kurt laughed at the disgruntled look on Puck’s face. Kurt just looked confused. Blaine snuck up beside him and gave a quick squeeze to his side before retracting his arm.

“I’ll explain later,” he murmured, feeling a little thrill at the idea of a later. Potentially a lot of laters. Judging by the grin that appeared on Kurt’s face, he felt the same. Blaine felt a thrill at that, too.

“As happy as I am for Blaine and Kurt,” Wes said, wiping his hands together and rising up from where he had been crouched stowing the supplies below the seats in the dinghy, “did anyone come up with any solutions?”

Slowly, the smiles melted off everyone’s faces as, one by one, they all shook their heads. Kurt’s fingers brushed Blaine’s.

Before the mood could sink too far, though, they heard shouting and turned to find Sam sprinting down the wharf, excited smile lighting up his face as he waved wildly at them. He reached them out of breath and had to bend over, gasping for air. Santana watched him with a wry expression on her face.

“Subtle, Trouty Mouth.”

Blaine shot her a look and she shrugged in response, unconcerned. Kurt briefly entangled their fingers again and gave a quick squeeze, then let go. Sam caught the movement and looked up at them, delighted.

“Hey! Kurt and Blaine finally got together? Awesome!” he exclaimed, making the two of them flush.

“Sam,” Wes cut in, face serious and frown severe, but there was concern in the way his gaze darted around as if to see who may have overheard, “Let’s not shout about our friends’ illegal leanings, shall we? Why were you excited?”

“Oh,” Sam slumped in shame, and then lit up again. He straightened and began gesturing animatedly, “Oh! Right! Mercedes!”

They all stared blankly at him as he stared back, eager.

Wes cleared his throat as the silence threatened to drag on even longer, “What does your girlfriend have to do with this, Sam?”

“She’s the answer, she can do it,” Sam explained, thrumming with enthusiasm. “Look, we’ve been talking about it and how it’s so hard doing the relationship thing when I’m dead and she’s, you know, not. I can’t leave the crew, obviously, and she said she would join, but she doesn’t believe in killing herself and she’s ‘too fierce for any of these lowlifes to end her’. This way, she won’t have to and she’ll be the one doing the killing! Plus, she’s already captain of her own ship, so she has the experience.”

Wes looked surprised, then thoughtful. “Could she get here before Kurt’s deadline?”

Blaine let out a noise of protest, “Sam, are you sure she would be alright with this? We need to ask her.”

Sam waved his concern off, “I’m sure. I just need help writing the letter. I know where to send it. She shouldn’t be too far from Boston, actually.” The hope in Blaine’s chest started to expand. Looking around, it was reflected back at him from the other’s faces.

“We should get started now, then,” Wes said, moving to climb out of the dinghy. Tina raised a hand to halt his progress.

“No offense, Wes, but this could use a lady’s touch. Romance is not exactly your forte.” Wes bowed his head in acquiescence as Mike watched, amused. There was a story in the maroon flush of Wes’s ears, Blaine knew, but Wes was tight-lipped about it, Mike claimed he had been sworn into silence, and Tina always laughed too hard to tell him anything. He wasn’t sure David even knew.

“I could help,” Kurt offered.

“No, Yankee Doodle Dandy, you spend more time with Warbles over there. But we are going to let her stay in your house, ¿comprendé?” Santana snapped her fingers twice and then pointed to Blaine. Her eyes met Blaine’s and softened around the edges. She gave him a small, honest smile that he returned much more widely. The moment ended quickly when Santana sidled up to Puck and began making fun of him, or so Blaine assumed if he had heard “syphilis” correctly.

With Puck and Santana to one side, and Tina, Wes, Mike, and Sam grouped together on the other, Kurt and Blaine were blocked from anyone who may have been looking down the dock. Blaine knew that had been a purposeful maneuver and felt a flash of gratitude for his friends as he took Kurt’s hand again. He wondered when that simple action would stop causing his nerve endings to dance. Not likely any time soon, he thought, a huge, goofy grin on his face.

“This could really work,” Kurt murmured and pressed closer to Blaine’s side. Blaine swallowed and nodded, dazed by all that had happened, but still so incandescently happy.

“And even better? We’ll have to stay close until the deadline,” Blaine said. “He’ll have to leave someone ashore to keep tabs on you, and we can’t leave crew behind.” Kurt’s smile at this news was dazzling. “He may not let me come back too often, but the others will likely have freer reign. We can write each other every day if we want.”

“There’s the silver lining I was looking for. Who knew I’d be excited to have a stalker? And we definitely want,” Kurt teased, his nose skating along Blaine’s cheekbone. It took everything in Blaine not to turn just so and kiss him breathless.

“Anderson.” Puck’s warning cut through their moment and as one they dropped hands and stepped to the side, reluctantly turning to see the other crew members returning to the dinghy. Sam was folding his letter with care, stuffing it in an envelope already addressed to “The Captain of my heart.” Kurt cocked an eyebrow at the title and it was Sam’s turn to flush as Blaine and Tina laughed at him.

“I’ll see you later, Blaine. Everyone,” Kurt said. He took the letter from Sam and cast one last, lingering look at Blaine, eyes drinking in his features as if he were preparing for a drought. Blaine could empathize—he was doing the same.

“Soon, Kurt,” Blaine promised. Santana mimed a gag and, in a surprising twist, Puck was the one to shove her. Kurt walked backwards a few steps before finally turning and leaving, greeting some of the others as he passed them. Blaine definitely didn’t stare at his ass.

“Come on, Romeo,” Tina said quietly. Blaine could hear the grin in her voice even as she poked him in the side, but he didn’t want to lose a moment of looking at Kurt. Tina tugged his arm a little more forcefully, “We have a mutiny to plan.”

He reluctantly followed her as she climbed aboard the dinghy, hand holding hers as she stepped down. When she was steady, Blaine tossed one last glance down the wharf at Kurt—the boy he was fairly certain he loved.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

David was there to help everyone aboard when they returned to the _Dutchman_. They hauled up the supplies, and Wes and David exchanged a significant look as Wes climbed onto the deck. Blaine waited off to the side knowing they had more to discuss and that David needed to be updated on all that had happened.

The Master’s voice rose above the commotion of their return, directing the supplies and crew members, declaring the next shift of crew who would be going ashore. He would lead the next expedition of a group that consisted of many of the older members of the crew. The final group wouldn’t go out until the next day, led by David.

Blaine jumped in surprise when a hand was placed on his shoulder. He looked over to see the Captain overseeing the return of the crew members who’d been ashore. Blaine forced himself to relax and fought to keep a pleasant expression on his face, a familiar mask.

“It’s good to see you back safely, Blaine,” Captain Fokke said mildly, squeezing Blaine’s shoulder. There had been a few close calls over the years involving Blaine, and one of those had come at the hands of some men who took issue with Blaine’s… _choices_ during a trip to shore. Blaine had been 15 at the time and Puck and Mike had saved his life by stopping the men and getting Blaine to Bartholomew in time. There was a sharp decline in the Captain’s willingness to allow Blaine to leave the ship after that incident. They never went back to that port. “I would like to meet you in my cabin later, once you have resettled and perhaps checked in on our newest crew member. I believe I saw him up and about earlier. I expect a report of what experience he has when we meet.”

“Yes, sir,” Blaine nodded in deference, wondering what the Captain wanted to discuss.

“At the change to first watch, then.” The Captain patted his shoulder and strode off. Blaine watched him go for a moment, trying to shake off the mixed feelings of trepidation and guilt. He turned back to find Wes and David waiting for him. David motioned with his head for them to follow, and the three wove through the crew still milling about on deck to climb down into the hold.

Santana was there, already changed back into trousers and leaning casually back in a chair, examining her nails. She caught their shocked stares directed at her legs and a shark-like grin spread across her face.

“I’m good at removing my clothes,” she said, tone challenging. Wisely, Blaine, David, and Wes said nothing. Santana nodded approvingly and kicked the chair across from her out from the table. “Sit. We got things to discuss.” She waved a hand vaguely as the three men each took a seat, “I’ll catch Tina and Quinn up on what we talk about and they’ll tell the others. Puck and Mike are going to work on figuring out who we can trust. Artie will do what he does best and eavesdrop. How no one on the crew knows to look up at this point, I will never understand. Idiots.” Santana shook her head in disbelief. “Your turn, Kalunga,” she gestured at David, who shot her a dirty look. Santana met his eyes, unimpressed.

"I think Jeremiah is missing from the ship. He wasn't meant to go ashore at all, but when I was trying to take note of what everyone remaining behind was up to—significantly more difficult when you want to do it quietly, let me tell you. I thought the new boy, Sebastian, was missing for a while, which was weird, but then he turned up in the most random spot a little while ago—but Jeremiah is definitely gone."

"He must be the one watching Kurt," Blaine realized. David looked confused.

"Kurt? What does your darling dearest have to do with any of this?" he asked. Blaine kicked him under the table.

"The Captain sent him a letter." Wes's statement made David freeze and stop the teasing faces he was making at Blaine.

"He wants to recruit him to the crew. He gave him until September 26 to make a decision."

"Damn," David swore, face darkening as he slouched towards the table.

"We talked about the mutiny," Wes continued, his voice now hushed as he cast furtive glances at the opening above them.

"Puck's standing guard," Santana said, seemingly unconcerned, inspecting her nails again. How she kept any nails at all aboard a ship was beyond Blaine's understanding.

"Sam suggested we ask Mercedes, so Kurt's sending the letter to her. Hopefully we'll hear back soon. We have a month." Wes summarized. David nodded, clearly thinking hard.

"So should we strategize as if she's agreed?" Blaine asked.

"We can figure out the planning on our end, first," Wes responded. "Santana's right: We need a sense of who’s on our side, who we can trust, who will help. Who won't help but also won't interfere. And who will actively fight against us. We have to do this carefully, with a lot of discretion."

“Discretion is my business,” Santana said. The boys stared at her, incredulous. Santana raised an eyebrow at their doubt. “You,” she said, pointing at David, “are the one who steals the fruit. Aka the reason Blaine got scurvy that one time. You,” she said over David’s sputtering, pointing at Wes this time, “’You fight good.’” Wes turned bright red. She turned to Blaine. “And you, Rainbow Farmer, 5 years the two of you have been in love, you oblivious idiot, how did it take you until now to kiss?” Blaine flushed and ignored David’s excited, “They kissed? Finally!”

Wes gave an awkward little cough. “Point taken, Santana. Espionage is another of your considerable talents.” Santana settled back, satisfied.

“As insulting as this is, it sounds like we can’t do anything more right now, and I have to talk to Sebastian before I see the Captain so I should get going,” Blaine said, rising from the table.

“Be careful with that one,” Santana cautioned, “He’s got the look of a weasel to him.” Blaine raised an eyebrow at that but nodded. Santana had good instincts. _A snake can always tell when a weasel’s about_ she’d claimed in the past.

He climbed the stairs out of the hold and back into the bright sun, shading his eyes as he waited for them to adjust. A cursory glance around the deck easily located Sebastian standing near the bowsprit, so Blaine made his way over.

“How are you finding the ship?” he asked in greeting as he approached, not wanting to startle Sebastian. The other man looked over at Blaine, and Blaine was taken aback by the blatant once-over Sebastian gave him. He fidgeted as Sebastian’s eyes dropped again and began to rise, more slowly this time. Blaine coughed and thrust out his hand, pulling Sebastian’s attention there instead of…wherever it had been.

Sebastian’s lips curled into a smirk, and he took Blaine’s hand, wrapping his long, calloused fingers around Blaine’s. “Can’t complain,” he drawled, staring into Blaine’s eyes.

Blaine shifted and pulled his hand back as he fought the urge to rub his neck, smiling shyly, “I’m not sure if you remember, but my name is Blaine.”

“I remember you, Killer.” Sebastian leaned his elbows back against the railing. Blaine frowned at the nickname. “So you’re what? The Captain’s son? Everyone talk about you like you’re something special.” Sebastian’s eyes flickered once more up and down Blaine’s frame, then to the stern where Captain Fokke stood and back. Blaine couldn’t imagine Sebastian was serious—Captain Fokke was very obviously Dutch and, while not as much of his Filipino heritage was evident in his features, Blaine was very obviously _not Dutch_.

“I probably would call myself the ship’s Trumpeter, if I had to claim a title.” The truth was that Blaine did a little bit of everything, but most consistent was the expectation that he would welcome all souls aboard. “Do you have any sailing experience?”

Sebastian held eye contact. “Beyond sailing with my father on fishing trips? No. I was stowing away on that last ship before they were attacked by pirates. They didn’t find me, and I managed to get out before they decided to hide the evidence. I’m good at getting in and out of tight places.” His tone was suggestive, but Blaine chose to ignore it as best he could, ducking his head and blushing furiously.

“You’ll probably be made a sailor, then,” he decided, glancing up at Sebastian and shoving away his embarrassment. “Mike, Tina, Artie, and Sam are always willing to show a new soul the lines.” They’d certainly helped him, although Ben was the one who truly took Blaine under his wing. But Ben was gone, now, for about 10 years.

“No chance of private lessons with you, then? Does the Trumpeter make these decisions? I don’t remember you blowing anything to welcome me aboard, and, believe me, that’s something I would remember.” Sebastian sidled closer.

“Oh, um, no, I suppose not usually.” In fact, Wes and David used to make the assignations, in their position as Midshipmen, or the Master himself would do it. Blaine had just found himself naturally assuming the duty as he spoke with the newcomers and became more familiar with each position. “And Trumpeter is really just a title. I think Captain Fokke has a flute he plays, but no, um, no trumpets.”

“Shame. You seem like you’d be a natural at blowing a horn.” Blaine’s blush came back full force and he stared determinedly out towards the sea. He couldn’t look at Sebastian. He had never met anyone so forward, and he didn’t quite know how to politely respond.

Sebastian turned so he was no longer leaning backwards on the rail and rest his forearms next to Blaine’s as he, too, faced the horizon. “So how does this ship work?”

“I’m not sure what stories you’ve heard, but we’re not a harbinger of death, not exactly. We only visit those who are already dying.” Well. Usually. Blaine paused and considered how much he should edit the complicated changes that had been taking place aboard the _Dutchman._ For simplicity’s sake, he decided to give Sebastian a summarized version. He had time to learn the rest. “We are meant to ease and guide their transition into the afterlife. If we make it in time, Bartholomew, our surgeon, and his Mate, Santana, care for them as much as they can. Sometimes the Captain will heal them so they can make it and don’t have to suffer. If we’re too late, well, we’ll try to find them on the other side and pick them up there. We can switch sides at either sunrise or sunset, or we can jump when a person is dying. That’s how we got you. We tend to roll in, full sail in the midst of a storm, so people sometimes get the wrong impression.” Frequently would have been a better word, especially since the Captain had learned of Felicity and Grace and his mercy took a short drop with a sudden stop.

Sebastian looked thoughtful. “What’s on the other side? Where do you take people? What about us, do we have any special powers?”

Blaine paused, taken aback by the rapid fire questions.

“The other side…it’s full of the creatures of superstition and legend, really. I think they were once here, too, but now they mostly stay there. There are mermaids and sirens and sea monsters and so many others. I’m pretty sure I saw a dragon once. No one knows where the dead eventually end up, but we take them to Fiddler’s Green, and they go from there. And the crew,” Blaine turned and looked around at all those milling about on deck, “they don’t have any real ‘powers’. There’s a tie to the ship, of course, and protection when we make the jump. You’re sturdier on the deck during all weather. The only one who can’t leave the ship is the Captain—everyone else is able to, if you have the Captain’s permission. You may be able to get a leave now, if you want. I would ask David or Wes,” he pointed to the tall African boy and shorter Asian as he named them. “Obviously, you can’t die, but you can be injured. The Captain’s healing powers are limited to life threatening injuries. Artie fell from the shrouds once and broke his back. He’s paralyzed now, the Captain couldn’t heal that, but we think once he goes to the Green, he’ll be healed completely.”

Sebastian’s gaze went a little distant and he nodded slowly, clearly processing what he had been told.

Blaine drew his attention back to Wes and David. “Wes and David are our midshipmen. The Master is Santiago.” The Argentinean was back with the Captain, who caught Blaine’s eye and gestured. “They’ll be the ones you report to. I’ll try to send one of the other sailors your way if I see them first. Excuse me for leaving so abruptly, but the Captain wishes to see me.” Blaine bowed out and headed aft towards the Captain’s quarters.

He dug down to steel his control of his emotions as he shifted his focus from Sebastian to the impending meeting—the Captain was threatening the man Blaine thought he might love. Blaine was planning a mutiny against him. He still had a confusing mix of feelings about the man he almost considered a father figure. It was far from the ideal situation and Blaine couldn’t give anything away.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sunlight came down from the skylight above and the portholes to the side, lighting on the table set with food for one. The Captain stood to the side as he stared at the strange collection of items on his desk. Blaine hovered in the doorway, unsure if he wanted to be interrupted despite the fact that Blaine had been summoned there.

The Captain shook his head as if to clear it and tore his eyes away from the wide, shallow basin to look at Blaine. He gestured towards the table, inviting Blaine to sit. Blaine claimed the seat in front of the food and Captain Fokke sat across from him, hands folded on the table.

“Go ahead, Blaine. Eat.” The Captain nodded in the direction of the simple meal, and Blaine took up the silverware and began cutting the meal into precise pieces. The Captain seemed content to just watch him for a while, and Blaine fought the urge to fidget under his stare. His discomfort at being the only one eating was only magnified by the silent scrutiny.

Finally, Captain Fokke broke the silence. “I saw you directing Sam to our newest member. I take it you believe he would be best suited as a sailor?”

Blaine swallowed and nodded, “Yes, sir. He doesn’t have much experience aside from some fishing trips, but he seems pretty smart. I think he’ll pick up the differences fairly quickly. I can help him, or the others.”

The Captain hummed his assent, leaning back and stroking his tidy blond beard. “You’re rather good at making people comfortable, aren’t you, Blaine? You have a natural talent for helping others. And I’ve had the pleasure to watch you foster that talent over the years. You care. You have a good heart, son.”

Blaine’s eyes widened slightly. “Thank you? Captain?”

“We’re going to miss you aboard the _Dutchman_ , Blaine. You’ve done a lot of good here. There’s still so much good you could do, so many souls you can help.”

Blaine knew where Captain Fokke was going but couldn’t think of a way to stop it. In the silence that followed, Blaine sipped on his water and avoided the Captain’s eyes.  

“You have so much potential,” Captain Fokke mumbled and didn’t seem like he was going to elaborate further. Blaine frowned at his empty plate. The Captain looked up at the sound of the utensils clinking on the plate.

He smiled. “You know you can always find a home, here, Blaine. You can continue to provide comfort and aid to those most in need of it. You can help us to protect them. And you will be safe here.” Capt. Fokke stood abruptly, knocking his chair back. He returned to his desk, picked up his seal and began to fiddle with it. “The world out there, ashore, it’s filled with danger. Disease, war, evil people…” The Captain thudded the seal down on his desk. He gripped the edges of the desk with white knuckles as he stared down at it. “People there dream of the wonders we have seen. They dream of the safety we know. Good people that deserve so much more.”

He trailed off and gave himself a small shake, turning back to Blaine who was watching wide-eyed and unsure. Blaine felt the urge to comfort him but didn’t know what to say.

“Should you choose to leave us when your time is up, however, Blaine, I wish only that you remain safe and happy.”

“Thank you, sir,” Blaine said, touched. Captain Fokke nodded curtly, hands clasped behind his back.

“You’re dismissed.” Blaine rose from his seat and took care to tuck it back under the table. As he opened the door and prepared to step out into the night, the Captain’s voice stopped him.

“Whatever you do, Blaine, take care not to mention your time with us.”

Blaine hesitated on the threshold, and then quietly slipped through the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • I don’t ever explain that, actually, so here it is now: Puck tells people he died in a super badass way, but he really caught syphilis and died from that. Santana is saying they’re trying to help Blaine and Kurt live so they can have sexy-times, not have sexy-times so they die.   
> • Kalunga: a myth of the Ambundu of Angola. Kalunga refers either to the underworld (Death), the King of the Netherworld (Kalunga-ngombe), or the sea. I figured it was appropriate. David chose to go by David because he got sick of people not being able to pronounce his name.  
> • Rainbow Farmer: Filipino legend about the first rainbow. Tells of a farmer who fell in love with a star maiden. He hid her magical wings so she couldn’t leave, and they eventually get married and have a baby boy. One day, she finds her wings and remembers her sisters, putting them on and taking her son to fly back to them, leaving the farmer heart broken. The gods feel pity for his tears, and decide to build a way for him to climb to the sky to see his son and wife—a rainbow. It's much cuter to read than how I described it. I recommend looking it up.   
> • Trumpeter: from the 'Seaman’s Grammar' “always to attend the Captains Command, and to sound either at his going ashore, or coming aboard, at the entertainment of Strangers, also when you hale a Ship, when you charge, board, or enter” I’m interpreting it to mean he acts as the ship’s greeter. A loose definition, but whatever.


	4. Chapter 4

The next week and a half blended together for Blaine. Like they’d predicted, the ship stayed berthed close to Boston, sitting silent outside of the main channel near Castle Island. They occasionally saw other ships and small fishing vessels pass by, but some magic of the _Dutchman_ diverted their attention so no questions were raised about their continuous presence.

Within days, Mercedes had arrived at Kurt’s house and the mutiny became more real and more dangerous. As cautiously as they could, each of the mutineers aboard the _Dutchman_ worked to feel out which of the other crew members were sympathetic to their plans. It was slow, but they had a tentative list that was ever growing. Quinn and Santana turned out to be the best at determining hidden intentions and motivations. Mike was always a well-trusted member of the crew, and people were likely to confess things to him they wouldn’t speak of otherwise. Tina and Artie tended to be overlooked and so found it easy to eavesdrop. And Puck got people drunk.

The stress of their cloak and dagger actions was tempered by the fair weather and passivity of the days. Most of the crew took advantage of this sudden inactivity, heading ashore a few times a week. They all had duties aboard but there was far less to do and more time to do it without the additional chore of sailing. Blaine wasn’t allowed to go back into Boston as often as the others, but he and Kurt exchanged letters daily through their friends. There was one memorable afternoon when Kurt took him to a show at the Federal Street Theatre before showing Blaine his favorite places in the city. Some were more private than others and they managed to spend the whole day exchanging some innocent—and some not so innocent—touches.

Blaine found the brush of Kurt’s hand against him to be more thrilling than ever.

Captain Fokke had also invited Blaine to two more dinners in that time, and each Blaine left feeling conflicted. The Captain was doing his best to convince Blaine to stay, and Blaine was remembering just how much the man had done for him over the years, how much of a father he had been. Captain Fokke thought he was protecting the innocent and helping good people live out their potential with a second chance aboard the ship. He had a skewed system of determining those worthy, but he claimed to be able to recognize a “good soul.”

He had smiled fondly at Blaine as he added, “It’s how I found you,” his hand skimming around the edge of the same shallow basin that Blaine had noticed on his desk before.  Blaine recalled the exchange with a churn in his gut. At the time, he had allowed a tentative hope to rise that maybe none of this was necessary, that Captain Fokke could be talked round to see he was doing more harm than good.

Blaine struggled to subtly bring up the methods the other man was using, forcing a lightness and cheer into his voice as he off-handedly mentioned, “I don’t think I ever knew how you found me.”

The Captain had smiled down at the basin, “Good fortune and fate. I was meant to save you. I am meant to save many people.” That benevolent smile was then directed at Blaine, whose tongue seemed to swell in his throat and prevented him from saying anything more.

However, despite Blaine’s growing trepidation for the end result of their plans, he only needed to remember the letter threatening Kurt and Kurt’s father to bury his feelings under protective outrage. No matter the inspiration or motive behind his actions, what the Captain was doing was wrong and he had to be stopped.

As it was, Wes, David, Santana, Quinn, and Puck were ashore holding another meeting with Kurt and Mercedes to update them and work out more details of their plan. Blaine hadn’t been allowed to go in, so he was lounging against the companionway, the warm sun shining down on his face. He dreamed of the day he could relax instead in the comfort of Kurt’s arms on soft grass rather than hard wood. For the first time, he was looking forward to the end of his sentence with only excitement as opposed to the anxiety and dread he had previously. He finally had a purpose, something tangible to look forward to.

He had Kurt.

Blaine closed his eyes and smiled up at the sun, basking in his happiness.

There was a burst of laughter from a group gathered to his left and then a shadow fell over him as someone stepped in front of his sun. Blaine’s lips dipped into a brief frown at the loss of the direct sunlight, but he smiled pleasantly when he opened his eyes and found Sebastian standing over him, hands fidgeting.

“Sebastian,” Blaine welcomed. He shifted sideways and gestured to the spot next to him in invitation. Sebastian shook his head, eyes darting to the side as the group settled portside let out another raucous laugh. Blaine’s eyebrows furrowed and his frown made a return, concern rising in him at Sebastian’s obvious nervousness.

“Is everything ok?” he asked. Blaine began to rise before Sebastian stopped him and glanced around at all the crew members on the deck. Sebastian’s gaze lingered on Tina and Mike who were looking over curiously, and he shook his head again.

“Not here. Not now.” Sebastian’s voice was pitched low and he spoke quickly, “I have to talk to you about something I heard, something about the Captain, but you’re the only one I can trust. I don’t want anyone to overhear. Can you meet me after the change of second watch, near the bow, starboard side?”

Blaine nodded slowly, still halfway to standing. He sank back down and crossed his legs. Sebastian looked relieved at his easy agreement and his normal swagger reinserted itself into his movements. When he looked back down at Blaine, though, Blaine could see the gratitude in his face.

“Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t know what they’ll do. But I have to tell someone. I don’t want to die again.”

“Of course, Sebastian. I’ll be there,” he promised.

Sebastian gave one last glance around and fixed a smirk on his face. He tossed a wink down at Blaine and strutted over to the group, easily joining in on their conversation. Blaine watched him go, eyebrows raised. Sebastian was an impressive actor.

He leaned back against the companionway and looked back over to where Mike and Tina were watching with curious expressions on their faces. Blaine shrugged in response, just as baffled as they were. Tilting his face back towards the sun, he tried to regain the sense of ease he’d had before Sebastian’s request. Anticipation and wonder over what could possibly have Sebastian so concerned tempered his peace, and Blaine gave it up for a lost cause.

He huffed in displeasure. So much for his perfect day.

Rising, he headed in the opposite direction Sebastian had gone and joined Mike and Tina. They welcomed him with grins, easily accepting his ignorance over what had spooked Sebastian. Waving away concern, Mike pulled out his long knives and twirled them with a smile and a challenge in his eyes. Blaine laughed and unsheathed his own sword as Tina assembled the pieces of a bo staff.

Friendly spars were exactly what he needed to expel the hum of energy Sebastian’s anxiety had sent crawling under his skin.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Blaine listened while the crew returning from first watch woke those for the second shift and then settled down into their own bunks to sleep. There was a general shuffling of bodies as the new watch dragged on additional layers and pulled on their boots, and the old tried to get comfortable on the thin mattresses.

He waited until the only sounds were the creaks as the wood of the ship shifted and the sleepy mumbles and snores of dozens of people before he crept out of his bunk and over to Santana’s. He woke her and immediately placed a hand over her mouth to stifle any cry she made. Her eyes flew open and her hand darted under her pillow until she recognized who was looming over her. Blaine brought a finger up to his lips in a silent indication for quiet and removed his hand before she could bite him. Santana relaxed, her wide eyes narrowing into a glare.

“I nearly stabbed you,” she hissed, pushing herself up onto one elbow. “Why are you waking me up?”

Blaine ran a hand through his wild hair and frowned as it got stuck on the way. He let out a sigh. “Sebastian wanted to meet me now, and he told me not to tell anyone.” He kept his voice soft to prevent anyone else from waking up.

Santana sat up a little more, alert now.

“He says he has information on the Captain, but he wouldn’t say what. He seemed scared, Santana. I don’t know what he’s going to tell me, but in case it’s dangerous and someone overhears us, I wanted you to at least know to be looking for me. If I’m not back down in twenty minutes, something went wrong.”

Concern entered Santana’s eyes, but Blaine hadn’t expected her to like what he had to say. Somehow the two of them had become a team in confronting unpleasant people and situations, and Blaine didn’t feel right going into something similar without her knowing. He would have felt better with her there, but he didn’t want to spook Sebastian.

“Fifteen minutes, Blainers. That’s all you’re getting,” Santana grumbled. She crossed her arms and leaned as comfortably as she could against the side of her bunk, hunched so her head didn’t hit the one above her.

Blaine nodded his understanding and crept towards the ladder to climb out of the crew’s quarters, swiping his bandana on his way by his bed. When he emerged from the companionway, he tightened the cloth over his hair and took stock of the deck. The typical lanterns illuminated the area and two of the watchmen were standing closer the stern, conversing in hushed tones and staring at something off the back of the ship. Blaine headed towards the bow, strolling to where Sebastian had told him to wait, seeing no sign of the other man.

At least the weather was nice.

He rested his forearms on the starboard rail as he stared out over the vast, calm waters. The moon was only the barest trace of a sliver, its light not outshining the stars so he could study the skies, looking for those shapes he knew. He smiled as he thought of Benjy, who had taught him the constellations, wider when he then thought of Kurt.

He heard the scuff of boots on the deck and began to turn around, Sebastian’s name on his lips before a heavy body made contact with his back. Strong arms wrapped around his torso and a hand covered his mouth to trap the shout he tried to let out. Blaine fought hard as his unknown assailant pulled him back away from the rail and dragged him over portside, more figures appearing around them to grab his flailing legs, lifting him off his feet.

Blaine felt his nostrils flair as his breathing picked up in panic and his wide eyes darted around the deck; where was the watch? He could barely see through the darkness; someone had extinguished the light that usually rested near the hatch to the hold. He felt rough cloth scraping across his face before the hand covering his mouth moved for the briefest second to allow a gag to be shoved into his mouth. It wrapped around and was tied behind his head, catching in his hair. His bandana must have fallen off in the initial struggle, he thought wildly.

When they reached the portside rail, Blaine was unceremoniously tossed over the side of the ship to land with a _splash_ in the water below. The cold water hit him with a shock, but instinct kicked in and he managed to claw his way to the surface to suck in a desperate breath of air through his nose. He reached up to pull off the gag and call for help but a hand grabbed him out of the darkness before he could, hauling him by the back of his shirt onto a dinghy that was clearly how his kidnappers—he was being _kidnapped_ —had reached the _Dutchman_. His hands and feet were rapidly wrestled together and tied with separate lengths of rope as the vessel rocked violently under the rough landing of the men that had thrown him overboard dropping into the boat.

It only took a matter of seconds, and then they were rowing silently away with a trussed up Blaine wriggling on the floor of the dinghy. He tried his best to shout through the gag and attract the attention of the crew he could now hear calling out across the deck of the ship, investigating the source of the splash. With almost no light provided by the moon and muffled oars, there was little chance they would be able to see them as they fled.

Blaine could only watch in distress as light lit up the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_ , its influence falling short of catching the escape of the men with their prisoner. He heard an exclamation, saw the light dip, and then he heard a familiar voice call out, “Blaine!” He writhed as much as he could in the cramped space, trying to make even the slightest creak to carry across the water. Instead, a fist met his temple and knocked his head backwards into the side of the dinghy.

He let out a muffled groan and blinked at the spots dancing in front of his eyes, his thoughts sufficiently scattered to make his movements sluggish just long enough that the commotion back on the _Dutchman_ faded before the ringing cleared from his ears.

Blaine slumped in defeat. He’d missed his chance for rescue. He wouldn’t be able to escape until the men who kidnapped him arrived at whatever destination they had in mind. He was entirely at their mercy.

~*~*~*~*~

It felt like hours had passed by the time Blaine felt the boat bump against something that stopped its forward motion and sent it rocking. He shifted as much as he could, craning his neck to catch a glimpse over the side and get any idea of where they were. One of the men noticed his efforts and pushed him back down. He left his hand on Blaine’s head and kept up a solid pressure that discouraged Blaine from attempting anything else.

The dinghy rolled from side to side as one by one the men all climbed onto what Blaine assumed was a dock. He heard shouts of greeting and strained his ears to listen. It sounded like the voices were coming closer, and one rose sharp and commanding over the others.

“Well? Where is he?” There was the rhythmic rapping of a purposeful stride on wood that grew louder as the man approached the end of the dock where the dinghy was tied. “Smaller than I expected.” Blaine pushed back against the hand holding him down and managed to see the silhouette of a broad-shouldered man through his curls. He must have noticed Blaine’s movement because his tone turned sharp. “He’s conscious? Either knock him out or blindfold him. We don’t want him knowing where we’re going.”

Dread filled Blaine as the man snapped a precise turn and stalked away, and Blaine directed his eyes toward the one gripping his hair. He seemed to be deliberating the choices. Blaine held himself still and tried to appear docile—neither option was appealing, but he would prefer not to be knocked unconscious. Luckily, someone agreed with Blaine’s silent pleas and a burlap sack was thrown into the boat to land on Blaine’s stomach. It wasn’t long before it was over Blaine’s head and secured around his neck tightly enough that breathing deeply became uncomfortable.

Blaine quickly began to overheat as his breath warmed the bag and caused him to sweat, making it itch all the more. Scared, uncomfortable, and clueless, he supposed he was lucky “in pain” wasn’t on his immediate list of grievances. As he was hauled up by his bound wrists and tossed over someone’s rather strong shoulder, Blaine wasn’t sure he could count on that for long.

It only took a few steps for Blaine to decide this was not a method of travel he would highly recommend. No matter how muscular (and therefore padded) the man’s shoulder was, it compressed Blaine’s abdomen and he bounced with each step, making it impossible to grow accustomed to the feeling. His face was itchy and sweating, the ropes around his wrists and ankles were beginning to chafe, and the gag was rubbing the corners of his mouth raw. All in all, it was pretty far from the best situation Blaine had ever found himself in.

Luckily, the journey was a short one. From the sounds of the man’s boots, it didn’t last much further than the end of the dock. He was then dropped into another wooden structure, his tailbone sending a _zing_ of pain up his spine. Blaine arched and twisted in an attempt to ease the pain, his hands and bare forearms brushing against something dry as he did so—straw? He puzzled over it for a moment before he felt more of the stuff being tossed on top of him. Soon, there was a thin layer of weight covering him and he rocked the slightest bit back and forth as whatever he had been tossed into began to move.

Blaine strained to hear and could just catch the clip-clopping of a horse’s hooves through the sack and straw covering him. He wondered yet again who would go to such great lengths to kidnap him, a question he hadn’t been able to answer the entire trip from the _Dutchman_. And what did Sebastian have to do with it? Clearly, the man had lied to him. Was this the plan from the start? Why?

There wasn’t much to prevent Blaine from going over the questions repeatedly as the cart continued its steady pace towards an unknown destination. He didn’t have any more answers than before, and the endless cycling was driving him insane, so Blaine started counting the hoof beats instead, coming up with a tune in time with their rhythm. His adrenaline had worn off long ago and, despite the situation, Blaine could feel himself falling asleep. The stars had started to fade by the time they had reached the dock, which meant Blaine had been up for most of the night. He was uncomfortable and scared, but the constant barrage on his emotions and the warmth of his coverings soon conspired against him to knock him out.

Blaine jolted awake when someone grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him over the side of the cart, tossing him back over their shoulder.

It was just as uncomfortable as the first time.

Thankfully, he was in the position for a similarly short period before he was dropped into a chair.  His wrists were untied, but he wasn’t given a chance to even flail as his hands were quickly secured to the armrests. He winced as they pulled the rope tight, and when they moved down to give his legs the same treatment, he pulled at the bonds to test their strength. Whoever these men were, they knew their knots.

Another rope slipped around his torso to keep him upright against the chair back, and a final one made its way around his neck and prevented his head from drooping too much. It seemed they were satisfied, as the hands retreated for a moment and then whipped off the sack covering his head.

Blaine did his best to emerge with a glare, but the sudden influx of light probably made it look like more of a squint. Plus Wes had once laughed at his attempts to be intimidating.

The blurry figure in front of him resolved into a tall, broad-shouldered blond man who stood with a straight back and contemptuous look as he gazed down his nose at Blaine. He was wearing a naval uniform, Blaine noted with a fair amount of surprise.

“You don’t look like much,” the man noted, “but you’re apparently a key part of the _Dutchman_ legend, and so you’re important to me.” He smiled at that, displaying a mouth full of straight teeth. He practically oozed confidence and command. Blaine had seen that smile before, and he trusted it even less on this stranger who had kidnapped him than he did on Santana.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blaine said.

“I think you do.” The man laughed and turned his gaze to someone standing to the side of Blaine, gesturing. The other man handed him a stack of letters. “My name is Lieutenant Commander Hunter Clarington of the United States Navy. I believe you are familiar with my Lieutenant, one Sebastian Smythe. He was integral in getting you here to us.”

Blaine had suspected as much, but to hear it confirmed hit him with a fresh wave of betrayal.

“He has also given us some very interesting information about the _Flying Dutchman_ and her captain.” Hunter shuffled through the stack of papers in his hands. The shark-like smile broke across his face again and he looked back up at Blaine, a hunger in his eyes. “And her crew.”

Foreboding sank down in Blaine’s stomach. He frantically cast his mind back to the conversations he’d had with Sebastian—what had he told him? What had he given away? What had others told him? Blaine had no way of knowing just how much Hunter had learned about Captain Fokke and the rest. His smile seemed to promise that it was enough that this situation was not going to be good. One of Hunter’s lackeys removed the gag from Blaine’s mouth, and Blaine licked his dry lips nervously.

The friendly look on Hunter’s face hardened. “What can you tell me about the _Flying Dutchman_ , her powers, and her captain?” Blaine’s stomach continued its plunge towards his toes. He stayed silent, watching Hunter’s every move with wide eyes. He was so focused on Hunter that he missed the movement to his left until a fist smashed into his face, knocking his head to the side until yanked to a halt by the rope around his neck.

Blaine blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blurriness from his eyes and feeling dazed. There was a ringing in his ear that was slow to fade.

“You’ll find I’m a man who is accustomed to getting what he wants, Blaine.” Blaine glared at Hunter, who shrugged in response. Then he leveled another blow at Blaine’s face. “I’m willing to give you time to think about your options. I can be patient. I know your _Dutchman_ can’t get very far if one of her crew members is not aboard. I know you can’t die.” Hunter stepped closer and bent over to draw eye level with Blaine. He smirked and firmly patted Blaine’s cheek where a bruise had already started to swell. “And I know how to be very _persuasive_ , especially when such limitations are withdrawn.”

Despair filled Blaine and fear choked up his throat. Hunter thought he was a fully sworn member of the crew. Hunter thought he couldn’t die. Blaine closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Hunter thought he couldn’t die and so he was going to die here.

Satisfaction settled on Hunter’s face, and he stood up to his full height again, gesturing to one of his peons. Soon the gag was back in Blaine’s mouth and being tied around the back of his head with no care for the pull of his hair.

“I’ll give you a day or so to think about what we’ve discussed here, Blaine. Sebastian thinks you’re a smart man. You’ve impressed him. Don’t let me down.” Hunter about-faced with military precision and strode confidently out the door opened for him by another of his men. The others in the room followed him out, leaving Blaine alone to take in his situation.

Blaine did his best to suppress his fear and evaluate in his surroundings. If he didn’t escape, he would die here, because there was no way he could give Hunter the knowledge he wanted. Hunter couldn’t be trusted with that kind of power.

Blaine strained his neck around, feeling it chafe against the rope holding him in place, and was disappointed with the ramshackle building he found himself in. It looked like an old storage facility of moderate size with dilapidated walls and old farming equipment pushed to the side. Twisting the other way, Blaine didn’t see much more on that side, just a table covered in dust and rusting tools. There was no way Blaine could see the back half of the building with the way he was restrained.

Turning back to face the door, Blaine slouched back in the chair until the makeshift necklace started constricting his airway. He let his head fall backwards instead and gave up, just for a minute. His face was throbbing, no one could track him, his likelihood of escape seemed low, and he was in the clutches of a man who was threatening him with torture and thought he couldn’t die and so wouldn’t hold back. Blaine wasn’t sure things could get much worse.

As if to prove him wrong, his stomach gave a growl, alerting him to the fact he hadn’t eaten since early the night before. If Hunter thought he was already dead, he probably wouldn’t feed Blaine either. Blaine gave a humorless laugh.

Maybe he would starve to death or die of dehydration before Hunter could really get around to torturing him.

Head tilted back and facing the rafters, Blaine drifted off to sleep as the weight of all that had happened in the past few hours overwhelmed him. What could have been minutes—but was more likely hours—later, Blaine was jolted awake by the creak of the door as it opened. He immediately regretted the motion as his bonds cut into various body parts. Groaning in pain, he rolled his head carefully to see who had entered. He hoped it wasn’t Hunter already.

It wasn’t.

The figure was backlit through the open door, making it difficult to make out distinct features aside from the fact that he was tall. Really tall. Fear grew in Blaine at the sheer size of the man in front of him, but something niggled at the corner of his mind. Something familiar and…safe?

The door closed with a quiet click, dimming the room. The man came into focus and a rush of relief swept through Blaine so quickly it left him lightheaded. Without a thought, Blaine tried to call out to the man but his words were muffled by the gag. He froze for a minute, hoping no one else had heard the stifled sound but nothing stirred. It was probably the first bit of luck that had happened to Blaine all day.

Well, second, since, apparently, the naval crew that kidnapped him just so happened to be the one Kurt’s brother belonged to.

“Quiet, man!” Finn shushed him, and Blaine could only look up at him in a sort of delirious happiness. Finn rushed over and loosened the gag so that Blaine could push it out of his mouth to fall around his neck.

“Finn,” Blaine forced out, voice hoarse from the gag and lack of water.

“Oh! Here.” Finn reached around and pulled a container from his bag, unscrewing the cap and tilting it towards Blaine’s eager mouth. Water had never tasted so good nor felt so refreshing. He guzzled it down until he had to turn his head away, coughing. Finn’s reflexes took a minute to catch up and so some splashed down the side of Blaine’s face. Finn fumbled with his sleeve to wipe it off before it could dampen the rope or Blaine’s shirt and leave evidence that would give them away.

“Thank you,” Blaine said, voice stronger now that his throat wasn’t so dry. Finn refastened the cap back onto the container and put it away. When he looked back at Blaine, there was equal parts concern and excitement on his face.

“Why didn’t you ever tell us you were dead?” Blaine choked back a laugh. Five years and a job in the navy hadn’t helped Finn develop any tact at all. Finn just stared at him, eyes wide and earnest.

Blaine sighed. “I’m not dead, Finn.” Finn’s face fell and his eyebrows furrowed. What a situation where being alive was a disappointing turn of events. “I’m part of the crew, but I wasn’t dead or dying when I swore on. I’m still alive, and I’m leaving the _Dutchman_ in a couple months.” _Or sooner_ , he thought, _if Mercedes takes over_.

Finn’s face lit up. “Does Kurt know?” Blaine felt a smile split his face at the mention Kurt and happiness bubbled up in his chest. Finn grinned goofily at him.

“Oh!” Finn exclaimed, “Kurt! Does Kurt know you’re here? I can tell him you’re okay!” Blaine stared at Finn. He might not die here. Help could be coming.

“Where _are_ we?” Blaine asked as his mind spun with possibilities and time tables. How long did he have to hold out until he could be rescued?

“We’re on Peddock’s Island in Quincy Bay. We’re technically stationed in Quincy right now, but Lt. Commander Clarington,” Finn said the name with disgust, “is having groups of us rotate out here for guard duty. The others are patrolling around the island right now. I’m supposed to be watching the door. There are only, like, three of us here. He doesn’t seem very concerned about people finding you.”

Quincy. They weren’t that far from Boston at all. The _Dutchman_ and her crew couldn’t help him without giving up the whole plan for the mutiny, but Mercedes and Kurt could. With so few guards, it may not even be that difficult. Blaine felt his mood brightening. All he had to do was survive until then.

“Tell Kurt everything you just told me, and add any information on the routes they’re taking to patrol the island. Tell him everything you know about Hunter and his plans. Send it by the fastest courier you can find.” Blaine’s mind raced through the probable strategies and contingencies. “You should go back to your post. I would…try not to be in here as much as you can. You can’t give anything away, Finn.” As much as it filled Blaine with dread to think of what could happen in the days it would take Kurt and Mercedes to arrive, they couldn’t give any hint that anyone knew he was here before he could be rescued. Finn was a good guy, but he wasn’t an actor. He wanted too desperately to help and protect everyone. His duties would only hold him back so much, and if Hunter went as far as Blaine feared he would, Finn wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “No matter what happens, you can’t step in. Don’t put yourself in danger.”

A frown took over Finn’s face, and Blaine knew he was staring at what must be an impressive bruise on his cheek judging by the amount the swelling was obscuring his vision. “Blaine…”

“You have to _promise_ , Finn. You’re outnumbered. Don’t do anything until Kurt has worked out a plan. It could just make things worse.” Finn looked like he had been slapped. It was a low blow, but Blaine needed him to agree. Finn held his gaze stubbornly for a moment before looking away.

“Fine,” he muttered, shuffling his feet unhappily. They heard voices calling out and getting closer.

“Go, you have to go!” Blaine said. Finn shot him one last dark look and replaced the gag, trudging out towards the door with obvious reluctance in his steps. Blaine let his head fall back again. At least now there was hope.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes are all messed up. I'll try to fix it later. Hope you're enjoying!


	5. Chapter 5

Hunter didn’t return that day, and Blaine quickly grew bored. It wasn’t an emotion he ever expected to feel in a kidnapping situation, but here he was. Finn hadn’t returned, and none of his other guards had come in to talk to him. At most, they would poke their head in through the door, see him still tied to the chair, and quickly withdraw. Blaine thought maybe his “undead” or “cursed” status might have something to do with how uncomfortable they all looked around him.

He did his best to sigh. Honestly, their reaction to his “unnaturalness” was the best case scenario he had encountered in his life. He knew it could be much worse. However bored he was, though, entertaining the notions of how his situation could be _worse_ wasn’t something Blaine was interested in doing.

Especially since it was soon going to _get_ worse.

So, Blaine tried to focus on happier thoughts. Like Kurt. And his friends. His impending freedom. There was a clench in his gut as he realized gaining his freedom would mean leaving his friends, all of whom would still be bound to the Dutchman, but he pushed that away, too. Mercedes would allow visits, no matter how busy they were.

Life wouldn’t be the same, but it would be a life he made for himself and, if all went well, it would be a life he made with Kurt. Blaine allowed himself to fantasize about what the future would be like, something he had never fully given himself permission to do. It had always been something vague and amorphous that he was aiming for, but with Kurt’s confession, he had something real to build a life around.

He smiled around the gag. Tilting his head back, Blaine watched the dust dance in the sunlight shining through the holes in the roof. He had been following the angle of the rays as they shifted, and he estimated it to be early afternoon. Blaine’s stomach growled, but at least he didn’t have to go to the bathroom yet. Hopefully, Finn had already delivered his message to a private courier so that it would be on its way to Kurt today. Swiftly. If whatever Hunter did to him didn’t kill him, dehydration and hunger might.

Or embarrassment, if his bladder didn’t hold.

As it was, Blaine couldn’t understand what Hunter’s tactic was in waiting. He thought Blaine was dead and didn’t need food, so what could be the reasoning behind making him sit here without food? _He has other obligations_ , Blaine realized, _obligations that limit what time he has access to me._ It was a relief to think that Hunter didn’t have unlimited time to take out his frustration on Blaine. On the other hand, shorter amounts of time might mean more concentrated efforts, which could mean more pain for Blaine.

Blaine’s spirits slipped lower, but he was interrupted before they could fall too far by the opening of the barn door. He dropped his gaze down from the ceiling and tensed when Hunter shouldered his way in, followed by three of his men. Hunter came to a stop directly in front of Blaine, his hands resting on his own hips. Two of his men flanked him while the third moved to stand out of Blaine’s sight.

Blaine tensed further at not knowing what the man was doing behind him, but he tried his best not to show his fear to Hunter. Santana had always made fun of him for how obviously everything he felt showed on his face. Blaine channeled all the anger and frustration he had at the situation and pushed it to the forefront, hoping it masked his dread at what was coming.

Hunter made a noise in the back of his throat and began to pace a small circuit in front of Blaine, hands folded together behind his back. Blaine had no idea what to make of his behavior and stayed alert for anything.

“So,” Hunter said, continuing to pace, “what are you going to tell me about Captain Bernard Fokke?” He halted directly in front of Blaine, reaching up and yanking the gag from Blaine’s mouth to dangle around his neck. Blaine remained silent and glared up at him.

Hunter gave him a moment, then sighed and turned to face away from him. In a blink, Hunter had spun around and landed a right hook to Blaine’s face. Blaine’s head snapped to the side and pain ricocheted through his head to set up a low throb in his eye socket.  

Breathing heavily, Blaine closed his eyes for a moment before looking back at Hunter. His resolve didn’t waver. People were coming for him. He just had to hold on and not give anything away. Blaine let out his breath and steeled himself.

Hunter studied him, eyes darting around Blaine’s face. He nodded in what almost looked like approval before gesturing with a little wave of his hand. Blaine was so focused on Hunter and the two men in front of him, he forgot about the man behind him. There was a brief flash of movement in his periphery, and then a blow landed on his right side. Blaine tried to curl into the pain but drew up short as the rope around his neck pulled taut. Another punch caught his other side, and it was followed by another to his face. Blaine couldn’t contain the shouts and groans with each new hit.

“Stop.” The three men backed away at Hunter’s command, returning to stand at attention. Blaine heaved in gasps of air, various aches setting in, bone deep and painful.

“How large is your crew?” Blaine ignored him. The injuries to his abdomen made it more difficult to breathe deeply and his face throbbed with each beat of his heart. There was a small _snikt_ and Blaine’s gaze shot up, an icy fear creeping through his veins. Hunter stood fiddling with a knife, his eyes steadfast on Blaine. He smiled at Blaine’s reaction.

Blaine swallowed, hard.

“Ah, yes. Sebastian told me that although you all are quite dead, you can still be injured. Interesting. What other powers do you have?” Hunter moved closer, brandishing the knife. Blaine bit his lip and said nothing.

A swipe and a glint of silver. A whine escaped him as blood welled along the shallow cut to Blaine’s forearm.

“How many cannons does the _Dutchman_ carry?” Silence. Another slash and Blaine’s arms matched.

“How do I kill the captain?” Blaine whimpered as a deeper cut crossed the first.

“Is everyone aboard the ship a trained fighter?” The next gash was to his thigh. Blaine ground his teeth and tried to breathe through his nose. A surprise cut to his chest drew a hiss. Blaine flexed and arched as much as he could in the bindings, a desperate reaction to escape the pain.

“I’m not going to tell you _anything_ ,” Blaine gasped. Almost everyone he loved was on that ship, he couldn’t betray them. No matter how twisted his logic had become, Captain Fokke was at least an evil they knew. Blaine couldn’t predict what Hunter would do with immortality and a clear disregard for others. At least Captain Fokke was well-intentioned.

Hunter took a step back and seemed to consider Blaine, taking in his pale face and wounds. His eyes followed the trails of blood as they dripped down Blaine’s arms and chest, and soaked through the leg of his trousers.

“I have found you don’t need deep wounds to deliver a message effectively. Now, Sebastian told me you all could be injured, but that it took you time to heal. I imagine pain and blood loss affect you just as surely as if you still needed to breathe.” He eyed Blaine’s heaving chest. “I’ll let you think about what your best option is from here on out.”

He called over his shoulder for his men just outside the door, but Blaine could no longer focus well on his words. Blaine watched them enter through blurry vision. They were carrying some sort of large bucket. The spinning in Blaine’s head made thinking difficult and he couldn’t even begin to guess what they had in the bucket.

The mystery was solved when the bucket was overturned on his head and water splashed out, dousing him and stoking fiery agony from every one of his open wounds. Blaine let out a garbled scream, eyes clenched tight against the pain and the burning in his eyes.

“I’ve heard your crew has a connection to the sea that they must keep up. I believe this should be sufficient.” Hunter’s voice pierced the ringing in Blaine’s ears, but his explanation only served to baffle the shivering man. It must just be another layer of torture. He blinked against the water weighing down his eyelashes, slumping in his bonds.

Hunter snapped an about face and strode for the door. His three henchmen followed, leaving Blaine behind to shudder in pain and cold. His head felt light and the room was wobbling dangerously. Tears filled his eyes and he fought to keep from crying.

_Hurry, Kurt_ , he wished fervently into the darkening barn and slipped into unconsciousness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blaine didn’t regain consciousness for more than a moment that night, his body overwhelmed by the combination of stress from being kidnapped and tortured, blood loss, hunger, and dehydration.

Hunter never came back.

By the time Blaine’s eyes started to flicker open, sunlight was streaming through the slats in the building. His numerous aches and pains began to wake up, too, screaming for attention as he floated up to awareness. His head had lolled forward, causing his breath to come out in a wheeze, and Blaine tried to raise it to relieve the pressure on his neck. The weight of it felt insurmountable.

A hand came out of nowhere to cup his bruised cheek and help him lift his pounding skull. As the wheeze in his breath died out, a much sweeter sound became apparent. It sounded like Kurt. Blaine smiled.

“Blaine.” The voice was insistent, now, and so real. “Blaine, open your eyes.” He wasn’t aware he had closed them again. He struggled to pry his heavy lids apart. His left eye refused to open more than a sliver and a pulse of pain went shooting through his head as he tried to force it. Peering through the haze clouding his vision, Blaine was met with a tearful smile on the most beautiful face he had ever seen.

“Kurt,” he rasped. He wondered where the gag had gone. His mouth felt like he had swallowed a beach. He swallowed, but there wasn’t enough saliva in his mouth to do more than go through the motions.

“Oh, Blaine.” Kurt sounded sad. Blaine didn’t want Kurt to be sad. He tried to examine Kurt’s face but, oh, when had he closed his eyes again?

Something fell into his lap and Blaine looked down in confusion at the short rope resting there. With a jerk, he pitched forward as the rope around his torso was cut loose. Warm, strong arms wrapped around him before he could fall too far, and Kurt’s voice whispered soothing words in his ear. Blaine blinked at him and smiled.

“We need to get you out of here,” Kurt said, running a thumb across Blaine’s cheekbone and looking so concerned that a new ache started up in Blaine’s chest. “Mercedes.” Kurt looked off to Blaine’s left and Blaine just didn’t have the energy to follow his gaze. It took an extra second for the name to connect to anything in Blaine’s head. Mercedes. She had probably come with Kurt to rescue him.

He was being rescued from Hunter.

At that, a sense of urgency broke through the haze clouding Blaine’s mind and his eyes snapped wide, shocking a gasp from himself. “Kurt! Mercedes!” His voice was nothing more than a whisper, but something in his tone must have alerted them to his newfound alertness. He was desperate to get as far away from this barn as he could.

“Let’s get you out of here, Blaine Warbler.” And there was Mercedes, stepping into his line of sight, a warm smile on her face. Disbelief and joy clashed in his chest. The pirate captain and Kurt each reached forward and grabbed one of Blaine’s arms, careful to grasp where there was no cut. “On three. One, two, three, and up we go.”

They heaved him into a standing position, twisting to support his arms over their shoulders like a well-practiced dance. A rush of blood to his head sent Blaine’s senses whirling, but after a moment everything settled back down.

“Ready?” Kurt’s breath tickled his cheek and Blaine nodded, doing his best to be more of a help than a hindrance in their strange multi-legged walk. It was slow going and Blaine’s world seemed to jolt and darken with each step, but they made good time as they emerged from the barn,

They hobbled past a bound and gagged guard that glared at them from below a swelling goose-egg on his forehead. Blaine didn’t feel much pity for the pain the man would be in later. After being restrained in one position for so long, Blaine was stiff and sore on top of the torture he had suffered. Even standing pulled at his tight muscles, and being forced to walk was allowing his blood to reach parts of his body that had been neglected. He also wasn’t sure if the trickle he felt on his chest, arms, and legs was sweat or his wounds reopening.

Blaine stumbled over a rock. The sure grip of Kurt and Mercedes didn’t allow him to hit the ground, but it was a painful message that Blaine needed to focus all his attention on walking. He could deal with everything else later.

Kurt murmured encouragement as they picked their way down towards the water at a slow but sure pace. Blaine was panting even before the pier came into view, and his feet dragged with the effort to keep moving. As they crested the hill and the shoreline appeared, a couple of Mercedes’ crew members met them and joined as their escort.

Several exhausting steps later, Blaine was leaning most of his weight onto Kurt, but he couldn’t summon the energy to hold himself up any longer. Kurt didn’t seem to mind. His hand grasped Blaine’s where it draped over Kurt’s shoulder and he had his other arm wound tight around Blaine’s waist.

When they finally made it to the dock, Blaine was relieved to see that Mercedes’ ship, _Dekar_ , was there with a gangway leading up to her deck. There was no way he could have managed a ladder. As it was, he barely made it aboard and towards the stern where the Captain’s Quarters lay. Mercedes pulled the door open and they stumbled the few feet needed to deposit Blaine onto what must have been Mercedes’ bed.

Mercedes disappeared and Kurt eased Blaine’s feet onto the bed so that he was lying down for the first time in days. Blaine couldn’t help the noise of contentment that escaped him as Kurt guided a pillow under his head and gently nudged him over so that Kurt could sit beside him. Fingers combed through his hair, and Blaine felt himself drifting down into sleep.

“You can’t go to sleep yet, honey. Mercedes has gone to get the surgeon to look you over. You really should have some water, too.” Blaine moaned at being kept awake, then again at the mention of water. He didn’t think he had ever felt so thirsty in his life. “I know. I know, Blaine. But you’re safe now. Just rest.”

The surgeon arrived quickly, and she and Kurt removed Blaine’s shirt with gentle hands. Whatever she used to wash his stab wounds and dabbed on where the rope had rubbed his wrists and neck raw stung, but Blaine couldn’t muster more than a hiss of protest. Something cool and soothing was then applied, and he was carefully maneuvered to allow them to wrap bandages around his limbs and torso. As his back was held off the bed, Blaine felt someone—Kurt—moving behind him and he was lowered so that he rested at an angle in Kurt’s lap. A cup pressed against his lips and Blaine craned his neck, trying to guzzle it down, but whoever was holding it pulled it back. Blaine whined.

“I’m sorry, Blaine, but you have to go slowly.” Blaine nodded and the cup was returned. In small sips, Blaine had drained the whole thing and his dry throat still ached for more. He could feel it sloshing around in his empty stomach, though, and knew it would be a little while before he was allowed to drink again. A cool, calloused hand made its way back to his forehead, and Kurt resumed brushing through his hair.

“Go to sleep, love. We’ll talk when you wake up.” Blaine hummed in pleasure and fell into a blissful sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Blaine woke with a start to find himself alone. He felt much better rested than he had earlier, and he could even see a bit more out of his left eye. His right no longer was blurry. He took a moment to flex his fingers and toes and move his limbs around. Everything felt less stiff, and whatever Mercedes’ surgeon had put on his wounds was holding the pain at bay, for the most part. Blaine grinned. He wasn’t in perfect health but he felt _amazing_.

He was swinging his legs over the side of the bed, ready to find out what was happening, when the door opened. 

“Oh! You’re awake.” Kurt came fully into the room and closed the door behind him. His smile was all warmth and happiness. Blaine’s grin kicked up a few notches at the sight of him and he beamed up at Kurt, who hurried over to his side.

“Hi,” Blaine greeted. Kurt gave a soft chuckle and accepted the hand Blaine held out towards him, squeezing his fingers. Blaine tugged him closer so that Kurt bumped into his knees.

“Hi,” Kurt replied, amusement in his tone. This was so much better than letters ever could be, and soon this would be Blaine’s every day. He squeezed Kurt’s hand again. Kurt must have seen some of what Blaine was thinking in his face—Santana called them his heart eyes—and he flushed a light pink, but didn’t look away. A moment passed where the two of them simply stared at each other, and then Kurt let go of Blaine’s hand and knocked his leg against Blaine’s. “Come on, you, let’s get your boots back on and we can update you on what you’ve missed. You were kidnapped at a most inconvenient time.”

Kurt crouched down to help ease Blaine’s boots on, as bending was still a little painful. Blaine glanced down at his torso and his ears began burning.

“Uh, Kurt?” he asked, twisting to look around. Kurt hummed but kept his attention on Blaine’s laces. “Where’s my shirt?” Kurt’s eyes flew up and caught on Blaine’s chest, bare but for bandages. His freckled cheeks flamed red but his gaze seemed stuck. Blaine felt his own blush spreading across his entire face and fought the urge to cover up. He was comfortable being shirtless, but this felt different. Still, Blaine was one for addressing embarrassment head on. “Kurt?”

Kurt squeaked and became a flurry of movement. “Yes! Of course! A shirt.” He stood and turned on the spot, flustered. He frowned. “Yours has blood on it.” Kurt’s looked pained at the memory of the bloodstains and, by connection, the wounds that caused them. He took in the various bandages hiding them from view, taking comfort in the fact Blaine was there and talking to him. Blaine gave him a minute then shifted self-consciously, snapping Kurt back to the present. “I brought one that might fit you…” Kurt trailed off then spun to stride towards a small bag in the corner of the cabin that Blaine hadn’t noticed before. A fond smile quirked Blaine’s lips at the corners. Only Kurt would pack a bag for a day-long rescue mission.

Kurt rummaged for a little, holding up a shirt and casting a critical eye at it. He nodded to himself and returned to Blaine, pausing in front of him before handing him the top. Kurt’s cheeks were dusted a light pink again as he knelt down to finish the laces. Blaine pulled the shirt, a bright red, over his head and settled it over his shoulders. It was a bit loose in some places, but it fit well enough. Kurt stood, finished with Blaine’s boots, and held out a hand to pull Blaine to his feet. Blaine stumbled forward as the sudden change in position drained the blood from his head, and he caught himself on Kurt’s chest. He grinned wolfishly at the other boy and stole a quick kiss.

Kurt laughed.

“Come on, lover boy. We need to go get Mercedes.” Kurt stepped back from Blaine but enlaced their fingers to keep a point of contact. Together, they headed for the door and opened it to find a smirking Mercedes waiting on the other side, eyebrows raised.

“Boy, I do not want to know what took you both so long.” Kurt spluttered at the insinuation and Blaine laughed. Mercedes planted her hands on her hips and, despite being shorter than both, stared down at them with a commanding gaze. “Now, we’re obviously not too far from Boston Harbor and your _Dutchman_ , but we’re not heading there today. We’ll anchor out just past the eastern side of Spectacle Island. That should keep us relatively out of sight of the _Dutchman_ , but also put an island between us and Finn’s commander of reprehensible morals. We’ll talk strategy tonight. I’m not rushing into an attack without talking about this more.” She gestured for them to move aside and they scurried out of her way so she could move into her own cabin. She paused in the entrance and turned back to them, a kind smile now on her face, “Go get something to eat. Feel free to whatever. Then enjoy some time together—tomorrow could get messy.”

Blaine beamed at her and Kurt flashed a grateful smile. Mercedes shooed them away looking amused, and Kurt tugged Blaine towards the galley where he pushed Blaine into a chair. Blaine was content to sit and watch with a warm feeling in his chest as Kurt bustled around the small kitchen, putting together a small meal that wouldn’t interrupt the cook’s preparations. Soon he found a plate in front of him piled with bread, cheese, salted meat, and an apple. Finally, Kurt placed a large cup of water beside the plate and sat next to Blaine.

Blaine dug in, slicing each item into small enough pieces so he could spear them together on a fork and eat ravenously. Kurt propped one elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand, just watching. They stayed like that for a while, content to sit in silence and enjoy the peace of the moment. Once Blaine finished and they cleaned up, they laced hands again and strolled around the deck in the bright sunshine and warm September air.

Their walk was short, as Blaine was still recovering from the past two days, and so they chose a section of railing near the bow to stand close together and gaze out at the ocean. Not wanting to bring down the relaxed mood, their conversation turned to the past.

Kurt’s voice went soft as he spoke of his mother, and Blaine pressed closer to offer comfort. Kurt had told him stories before about his father, the way he raised him almost single-handedly from a young age, how he met Carole and Kurt gained a brother, but Blaine hadn’t heard much about his mother, who Kurt now remembered with clear reverence and an edge of pain.

Blaine, in turn, told Kurt about Ben, an older man who had vowed to serve for five years aboard the _Dutchman_. He had spent his life on a ship, escaping the streets of Cheapside to serve as a ship’s boy and then sailing under the famed pirate Jacky Faber. Ben was among one of the first shipwrecks they came across in the early days of Blaine’s sentence. Blaine had been 8 and scared and just beginning to understand that his father wasn’t coming back, that his life was now aboard this ghost ship and out of his control. Ben took Blaine under his wing and taught him everything he knew about sailing. When Blaine came to him, crying, because he was losing track of the days and months just as he was realizing that time was one of the most important things in his life, Ben taught him how to keep track of time and navigate by way of the skies, mapping the movements of the stars and their relation to each sea the _Dutchman_ crossed. Blaine had never learned why Ben had served those five years, but he’d resigned himself years ago that he would never know.

They traded stories, pressed together and exchanging heat until the ship came to a stop and Mercedes’ crew dropped anchor. The island was just off portside and Mercedes finally sent someone to fetch them back to her cabin to discuss strategy. The table had been pulled to the center of the room so that four people could fit comfortably around it, and Kurt, Blaine, Mercedes, and her first mate, Jane, all claimed a spot.

Mercedes began the conversation by updating Blaine on the last messages they had exchanged before and after Blaine had been taken by Hunter. Wes and David were on standby for the attack to come once Mercedes had rescued Blaine. She said Quinn was assigning only those crew members they knew would side with them in the fight to the watches closest to dawn, and they were to signal their approach by hanging two lanterns from the main boom. Those sailors would then wake and prepare the crew on the list of names Blaine’s friends had collected. This would, hopefully, allow them to be more alert than those who would put up a fight, limiting bloodshed.

If all went well, only Mercedes and Blaine would be needed for the battle. The two of them could more easily sneak aboard than a whole group of pirates. In case something went wrong, Jane knew to wait for a sign the tide was turning against them to bring another wave over to the _Dutchman_. They would then act as protection and a distraction to give Mercedes time to get close enough to stab Captain Fokke.

Kurt, having no real sword-fighting experience, would remain aboard the _Dekar_.

It was a good plan.

Blaine grimly informed them of Hunter’s line of questioning. From the fervid desire in his eyes, Blaine believed that Hunter would attack the _Dutchman_. It was doubtful to happen before Mercedes managed to usurp Captain Fokke’s position, but it could come at any time. They had to be prepared. The difficulty came in deciding if Mercedes’ crew should stay nearby and assist, led by Jane, or if they should stay out of it. The transition of power was bound to be choppy, and although Wes, Dave, Quinn, and Puck all had significant positions in the crew, they couldn’t predict how well they or the rest of the crew would respond to Mercedes’ style of command at first.

Kurt chimed in to add what he knew of Hunter’s crew from Finn’s stories and Finn’s letter detailing Blaine’s kidnap. Unfortunately, Finn wasn’t the best strategist, so they had limited insight into numbers of men or the extent of their weaponry. It was better than nothing, but they reached the end of their knowledge far sooner than they would have hoped.

Quickly, there was nothing left to do but stare tensely at each other around the table. Mercedes put an end to it, standing and assuming command like a well-fitted jacket.

“Alright. Everyone, get some supper and then go to bed. We need to be well-rested and we have an early morning. Especially you, Blaine. I know you’re still healing, but we’ll need you with us.”

The other three all rose and headed out to follow her instructions. Kurt and Blaine drifted close together and gripped each other’s hand like they never wanted to let go. Lives were at stake if they didn’t put a stop to Captain Fokke’s madness.

More selfishly, all Blaine could think was that their whole future was riding on what happened tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Dekar is Hebrew for force. I made Mercedes religious, and there is quite a bit of Hebrew in the Old and New Testament. Plus, I needed Mercedes’ ship to be something named for her fierceness and power.   
> • Benjy and Jacky Faber are a shout out to the Bloody Jack series. Actually, in retrospect, Santana's necklace is a shout out to the book Pirates!. I went through a pirate phase.   
> • For those curious, Blaine is the reason Benjy signed on.   
> • This is probably my least favorite chapter. Sorry.


	6. Chapter 6

Morning arrived faster than any of them wanted. When the bell rang, Blaine shook off the grogginess with more ease than Kurt, used to middle-of-sleep awakenings. This was possibly the happiest he had ever been about waking up quickly, as it gave him the chance to revel in the warmth he felt with Kurt’s arms wrapped around him. He couldn’t help the grin when Kurt gave him a sleepy smile.

Blaine wanted to believe that was an auspicious start to the morning. Could there be any better way to start the day?

All too soon, the bustle of the other pirates eroded their resistance to reality, and they forced themselves to get out of bed and join the preparations. The stars had faded but the sky was still dark as the sails unfurled and the ship began its near silent glide around the island toward the channel. _Dekar_ smoothly cut through the waves in her approach, and Blaine froze on the deck as he caught sight of the _Dutchman_ growing ever closer.

A deep sense of foreboding swelled in Blaine’s throat. Regardless of how much time was left in his deal, today was the day that determined Blaine’s freedom from the _Flying Dutchman_. If it went wrong, even if Blaine survived, the potential ramifications would haunt him.

It would all end today.

Warmth enveloped his hand and he looked down, surprised, as Kurt appeared by his side again.

“Mercedes is gathering the boarding party.” Kurt’s voice was quiet. Blaine knew it was because sound carried easily over water, but the moment itself felt hushed, as if it was full of breathless potential just waiting to explode.

Blaine nodded, casting one last glance at the ghost ship before he turned and walked with Kurt to where Mercedes stood with a small group portside. There was a collection of grappling hooks laid out ready in case the second boarding party became necessary, and Mercedes handed over a length of rope with the attached hook to Blaine, who secured it to his belt. Mercedes already had her own secured where she could easily reach them.

Mercedes gave the signal to Lynne, a crew member standing at the ready below two lanterns hanging from the boom. She  proceeded to light lanterns, and others in the crew jumped to action, adjusting the sails to slow the ship and change course to stop at a distance where they could see what was happening on the _Dutchman_ not near enough to be in danger of the enemy boarding them.

Kurt held Blaine’s hand tightly for a moment more, fear obvious in his eyes, before darting in to give Blaine a peck on the lips and letting go. Kurt backed away, keeping his gaze on Blaine and the scene in front of him. Blaine doubted he would look away from what was happening for even a second.

Mercedes nudged Blaine’s arm. Blaine took one last long look at Kurt, then tore himself away and followed her down the side of the ship to the small boat waiting below.

There was only a short distance to row over to the _Dutchman_ , and soon Blaine was securing the craft to the bigger ship as Mercedes pulled out her grappling hook and approached the side. Blaine fumbled for a minute with his own and had to take a calming breath so he could stand next to her, as ready as he’d ever be. That is to say, not very ready at all.

“If all goes well, your boys will be up there waiting for us and taking charge while Captain Fokke is still asleep.” Mercedes wasn’t looking at him, instead adjusting her hold on the metal claw in her hands, flexing and shifting it as if she couldn’t get a good grip to throw it. Seeing the fierce pirate nervous sent Blaine’s stomach into knots, but he forced a smile onto his face with all the confidence he had learned to fake over the years.

“Hey.” Dark eyes shot over to his, and Blaine bumped his arm against hers affectionately. “It will all go well. You can do this. And we’ll protect you until you do.”

Fire sparked and Mercedes’ lips pursed as she eyed him, “Boy, Pirate Captain Mercedes Jones needs _no one’s_ protection. Stick by me and I’ll make sure you make it back to your gentleman caller over there.” With that, she tossed the hook up, over the side of the ship and gave a solid tug to make sure it stayed. Head held high, she cast a teasing look at Blaine, “Keep up.”

Something settled inside of Blaine at that. Mercedes was one of the strongest people he knew. Their faith in her wasn’t misplaced, and his friends were aboard waiting for them.

Blaine launched his own hook up beside Mercedes’.

They wouldn’t be waiting much longer.

He yanked to confirm his grapple was secure, as Mercedes began to climb. He heaved himself onto the rope and worked to scale the ship just behind her. His wounds pulled but held together, and the stretch in his muscles felt wonderful after the last few days of forced inactivity and rest.

The two boarders reached the top of the rail and peered over. Dozens of people were scattered over the deck, standing tense, and some with cutlasses drawn. Blaine’s brows furrowed as he searched them, looking for one of his friends. The hair on the back of his neck rose.

Something didn’t feel right.

His mind was just processing the arrangement of the groups and the angry looks on everyone’s faces when two important things happened at once—Mercedes caught sight of the lantern set as a signal and Blaine made eye contact with Santana as she emerged from the galley.  She was bleeding from a wicked looking cut on her face and Quinn, whose eye was back and swollen, followed close behind her. A look of shock spread across Santana’s face at the sight of Blaine, and she began shaking her head, gesturing for Blaine to stop and mouthing his name.

Concern spiked through Blaine and he reached distractedly for Mercedes, “Mercedes, wa—“

“That’s the signal! Let’s go, Blaine.” Blaine just missed grabbing her arm as she swung over the rail and drew her cutlass in a single smooth motion. He had no choice but to follow, pulling himself onto the ship and fumbling for his blade.

Their arrival didn’t go unnoticed, and the various crew members on deck turned toward them. Blaine finally found Wes and David in the crowd where they stood at the ready, swords drawn and faces pulled into expressions of despair. That could not be good.

Mercedes’ back straightened, but that was the only outward sign she gave to indicate she had realized the plan had already fallen apart.

Slowly, the crew not gathered near Wes and David—stationed, Blaine realized, _opposing_ them—parted and dread flooded Blaine to the tips of his fingers. Captain Fokke emerged from between them, pacing towards Blaine with disbelief and joy on his face.

Blaine felt like the hand gripping his sword had gone numb, but the weapon stayed in his hand, if not entirely steady. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Captain Fokke reached out a hand toward him, “Blaine. You escaped.” The happiness on his face darkened as his eyes took in the rest of Blaine’s face, from the black eye to the bruises and split lip. His voice dipped low and clipped, “They will _pay_ for this.”

Blaine shifted in discomfort and remained silent. The situation had rapidly spiraled beyond his ability to deal with it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mercedes shift her hold on her sword, ready for whatever was about to happen.

Captain Fokke also caught the movement, and turned his attention to the woman who had boarded his ship with his missing crew member. As he took her in—her stance, her defiant expression, the naked blade in her hand—shock overtook his features. His wide eyes returned to Blaine and he seemed to register the sword Blaine held at the ready. Blaine clenched his jaw and lifted his chin, trying to stand as defiant as Mercedes, but there was a tremble in his hands he couldn’t quell.

Captain Fokke hesitated, and Blaine was rocked to see _hurt_ clear in his gaze. Betrayal and _rage_ quickly clouded over the hurt, and the Captain’s voice was hard as he said, “Kill them both,” stepping back to watch.

“No! _Blaine_.”

“Protect them!”

“Blaine!”

The voices of his friends rose above the sudden chaos the deck had slipped into, but Blaine didn’t have time to respond as he and Mercedes were set upon by those crew members still loyal to Captain Fokke. Blaine reeled back in both the shock of the attack and the discovery that even he was vulnerable to Captain Fokke’s theories of innocence and goodness. He had always believed the Captain viewed him almost as a son, a belief that had made assisting in the mutiny so gut-wrenching, and now the Captain had ordered his death. Was anyone safe?

Bringing his sword up, Blaine struggled to recover his focus. He and Mercedes were being attacked—he could deal with this later. Together, they fought to hold their position, the rail at their backs serving to keep anyone from attacking them from behind.

An overzealous swipe forced Blaine to lunge to the side, away from Mercedes despite his attempts to stay near her. Another stab came through as Blaine parried someone else, making him spin out of the way of both and expanding the distance between him and the pirate captain.

As the tide of assailants threatened to overwhelm him, Blaine swept out wide, forcing his opponents back and buying him a few seconds of time. The plan had clearly gone up in smoke, but this was still their best—and possibly only—chance to replace Captain Fokke. Mercedes needed to get to the Captain.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Santana appeared at his side, “Can’t keep your Lilliputian ass out of trouble, can you?”

Startled, Blaine’s arm reverberated with an incorrect block but he managed to push off his attacker. He grinned at her, “I’m doing alright.” Steel flashed towards his right, forcing him to spin to the left before he could strike back.

With Santana at his side, tempering the flow of enemies, Blaine had time to reassess the situation. Despite being outnumbered and less experienced, Blaine wasn’t even injured. They came at him fiercely, but none of the blows were aimed at vital points and they were all easily blocked. He ducked under another sword and Santana swept by him to engage.

He nearly stumbled a moment later when someone pulled their strike before it could hit him. _They weren’t trying to kill him_. Eyes wide, he backed into the rail as his mind raced, putting it all together even as he continued to fight. Sam joined the melee with Santana and Blaine, giving Blaine more space to shift his attention to the puzzle.

Given room to breathe, his revelation made a sort of obvious sense. Aside from Sebastian and a couple others, this crew had been with Blaine for the past fifteen years. They had watched and helped him grow up from an 8 year old boy to the man he was, and even with Captain Fokke’s direct order to kill him, they were reluctant.  Loyalty ran deep, and they knew if they didn’t take care, he would die.

Blaine caught the next strike on his sword, twisting around to get behind his attacker and shove her away. Positioned with his back to Sam and Santana, Blaine watched the movements of the ones coming after them, trying to discern their plan. They were keeping them busy, but for what?

A cry rose up over the clang of steel around them and Blaine whipped his head to the right. _Mercedes_. Through the mass of bodies and steel surrounding them, Blaine could just make out the figure of Mercedes. She held her sword in her right hand while her left gripped her upper arm, blood dribbling between her fingers. She was glaring at whoever was facing her, likely the person who had inflicted the wound.

Blaine’s eyes darted around, frantic for someone who could help her, but everywhere he looked, their allies were engaged. A glance over his shoulder showed Mercedes’ own ship was still too far to be of help, but the sail was filling and they were on their way.

“Santana!” he cried, desperate. Santana tossed him a look and he flung his arm out in Mercedes’ direction before ducking beneath a flash of steel, grabbing the man’s wrist as it passed him. Blaine pulled him closer and, with a grimace, smashed the hilt of his sword into his temple, knocking him out.

Looking back, he saw Santana had focused her attention on clearing a path to where Mercedes was now engaged in a fight with Captain Fokke himself. They needed to get to her, if only to watch her back. This was the fight that would decide everything, and they had to turn it around.

Sam was still dueling crew members at Blaine’s back, so Blaine knocked Sam’s ankle with his foot to let him know Blaine was moving away and Sam would be open to attack from behind. Then he began carving his own way to Mercedes.

The crowd of bodies surged against him and, despite his desperation to push through, he didn’t have the ability to break the waves of attackers. He wasn’t alone, though—Santana was weakening the lines ahead of him and Sam had realized what was going on behind him, joining Blaine with a fervid desire to get to Mercedes.

The three made steady progress, fighting less than a dozen feet away, but it wasn’t enough.

Mercedes screamed out in rage and agony as Captain Fokke’s blade sliced her side. Blaine saw the pain overtake her expression and the red bloom on her shirt. It wasn’t a fatal wound at any other time, but it cost her speed, mobility, and strength. And that would cost her life.

She couldn’t win.

Still she fought on.

Blaine’s heart pounded in his chest as the world narrowed down to a single point of focus, to a single truth. He had told Kurt all those days ago that it had to be him that took the captaincy. Kurt had made him believe he was wrong, that Blaine had a future, and those sunny, hopeful days he gave to Blaine felt like forever.

Only, forever stretched in front of him, and it was so very different. He clung to each second, each heartbeat that actually counted for something. Each breath that had a purpose.

Blaine kept his gaze forward, fighting the temptation that drew it to the right where he would find Kurt. He would never have the strength to look away, and he needed all he could muster for this.

He felt apart from the chaos of fighting around him. One living soul walking amongst those already dead, and he felt like the ghost.

Mercedes hit the ground and didn’t rise again. Captain Fokke raised his cutlass for a final blow and jolted. He gave a short gasp as Blaine’s blade cut into his back, fighting resistance as it slid through flesh and bone and tissue.

There was a clang as Captain Fokke’s sword hit the deck, echoing louder than Blaine knew was realistically possible. It shattered the moment and Blaine released the hilt of his own sword, hand trembling as he stared at where the blade remained lodged.

He imagined the look of disbelief on his captain’s face as Bernard Fokke’s heart shuddered to a stop while Blaine’s heart raced faster.

“Blaine!” A desperate scream registered at the back of Blaine’s mind, but identifying who it was fell flat against what was happening in front of him.

Captain Fokke’s body buckled and began to fall. Blaine reached out and grabbed his shoulders, easing down to the deck with it.

“Blaine! No!”

Blaine almost cradled Fokke, his hands and trousers quickly stained with blood. The tip of his sword jutted out just below the captain’s breastbone. Blaine’s stomach twisted and he looked instead at Captain Fokke’s face, unsure what he expected to find. Closure? Forgiveness? Understanding?

But Fokke was dead. His blue eyes stared blankly ahead and his mouth remained open in his last gasp.

Blaine was captain now. Blaine was captain because he had killed a man, one who had almost been a father figure to him for 15 years.

“Blaine.” A hand landed on his shoulder and Blaine flinched horribly, hunching over the body in his arms. A second hand clasped his other shoulder. Blaine curled tighter, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He tried not to cry. Letting out the breath, he straightened just a little and turned his head to peer up at the men crouching to either side of him.

“Wes. David.” His voice cracked slightly and the burn behind his eyes grew stronger. He swallowed hard. “I’m the captain now.” Saying it aloud solidified the reality of it into being. “The _Dutchman_ is mine.”

Wes nodded and David’s hand slid down to pat Blaine’s back. Blaine had to look away, unable to stand the look of devastation and pride in their faces. Wes leaned over and pulled Blaine’s sword free from Fokke’s back with a sick, wet sucking sound. He wiped it free of blood, then pried one of Blaine’s hands free from where it gripped the corpse and pressed the hilt into his hand—a reminder.

Blaine’s remaining hold on Fokke tightened for a moment before releasing, and he didn’t resist as Wes and David eased the body out of his lap to rest on the deck. He reached out and closed those unseeing eyes, hesitating for a second before pulling away.

Together they stood, Wes and David flanking him. Beside them, Sam was pressing a cloth to Mercedes’s side as he helped her sit up. She clutched her bleeding head but smiled at the blond next to her. Nodding to himself, Blaine cast his gaze around the ship where factions fought on, not realizing the shift of power that had taken place.

Blaine swallowed hard and made his tone as commanding as he could, shouting, “The Captain is dead!” His voice projected over the deck and, slowly, silence fell as Blaine drew all attention. “Captain Fokke is dead. I am the Captain of the _Dutchman_ now. I call for a ceasefire and a parlay with the _Dekar_.” He noticed some surprised glances take in the sight of the ship now pulling up beside them, grappling hooks being thrown over to keep them close—had the battle really been so quick? Blaine saw Kurt at the rail, unable to make out his expression. He turned away, pain flaring again in his chest at the sight. “Captain Jones and I will discuss the terms. You all sail under my command, regardless of which side you fought on today. You may forswear the oath made to Fokke if you wish, but for now there is more at play than you know.”

With that, he strode towards the Captain’s quarters—his quarters—with Wes and David following just a step behind. Sam and Mercedes trailed behind at a slower pace, careful of her wounds.

He paused at Santana’s side, “Please, come with us to tend to Mercedes while we talk.” He spotted their surgeon near the portside rail, arms crossed, watching the proceedings. His weapon was secure in its sheath. Blaine would need to have a meeting with his commanders, but he needed first to talk to people he trusted. He suspected the surgeon would be supportive, but for the moment…“Bartholomew. See to it that no one has serious injury that requires my attention?”

The man looked Blaine over, something unreadable in his eyes and a downward pull at the corners of his mouth. Blaine stood tall under his scrutiny and refused to fidget. He was rewarded by a tightening in Bartholomew’s lips before the intimidating figure turned his head, blinked once, twice, three times, and nodded, uncrossing his arms and moving towards the closest groups of people.

Blaine was stunned. That was the most emotion he had seen from Bartholomew in years, but he was too exhausted to even try to figure out what it meant.

Becoming overwhelmed again, he quickened his steps towards the door. Blaine had never considered himself to be very brave, and this was taking a new sort of courage all together. Blaine was reaching the end of his supply but he couldn’t break down in front of the crew. His crew.

A pale hand closed over his own as he reached for the entrance to his new quarters. It nearly broke him.

“Kurt.” Kurt’s eyes were sad, and his jaw clenched as Blaine’s voice broke on his name.

“Inside,” Kurt choked out, and together they shoved the door open and stumbled in.

Immediately, Blaine pulled free of Kurt and retreated to Fokke’s— _his_ desk. He stood in front of it, shoulders hunched and knuckles white as he gripped the edges of it, like holding onto the wood would hold his life together.

This was his choice and there was no turning back now. Blaine clenched his eyes shut for a moment before he opened them and forced his spine to straighten.

“Blaine.” That was Wes. Concern coated his voice.

Blaine turned to face the collection of his friends cramped into the room: Wes and David stood together, waiting for his direction and worry clear on their faces; Sam hovered by Mercedes’ elbow where she sat as straight as she could in a chair and Santana prodded various places, applying bandages as necessary; Kurt remained where Blaine had pulled away from him, playing with his own fingers and looking torn.

Blaine wanted to go to him, offer what comfort he could, but there wasn’t anything he could say to make this okay for them. Their future was the hardest thing to let go of, but it was all but impossible now.

He looked away.

“We have to talk about Hunter Clarington.” His voice cracked on its way out, and Blaine cleared his throat, flustered by this sudden betrayal of the mask he thought he’d perfected long ago.

“Yeah, fuck that, _Captain_.” Blaine stared at Santana, eyes wide, as she jerked to her feet from beside Mercedes and _prowled_ towards him. “We’re gonna talk about what the shit just happened out there.”

There was silence. Not even Wes spoke up, although Blaine saw him make a half-hearted attempt to get a word out.

“Santana—“ he started before she cut him off with a vicious slash of her hand, getting right in his face.

“We had a _plan_ , Anderson, a plan that admittedly went pretty thoroughly to shit, but Mercedes was here. She was here and she could have killed him. What the _fuck_ were you thinking, _gilipollas_?” Santana pinned Blaine with her stare.

He froze for a second, then exploded.

“I was thinking that Mercedes was down, maybe dead, Santana! I was thinking that our plan had clearly gone wrong somewhere when the entire crew and Captain Fokke appeared on the deck and you and Quinn had obviously been beaten by someone! That we didn’t have time to subdue or apprehend him and figure something out later. That, as bad as it sounds, if the Captain was willing to kill me, he really was willing to kill anyone!

“And you know what?! I was thinking that maybe I was the best person to do this, that maybe it didn’t have to be me, but it _should_.” He raked his hands through his hair and tugged, the sharp pain grounding him in the hurricane of his emotions. “I know this ship. I know her mission. I know her crew. _They_ know _me_. They could have killed me at any time today, but they didn’t. We trust each other. How long has it been since the _Dutchman_ has had a captain it could trust? I know the mission and I know both worlds. Why shouldn’t it be me?”

Blaine pulled back, trying not to appear like he was retreating, and crossed his arms tightly. He hoped it looked more imposing than insecure.

Santana bristled, and he could almost see her hackles rising when Wes put a hand on her arm. She whirled towards him, face a snarl, and hesitated, something in his expression giving her pause. Her jaw clenched, but her shoulders came down and she stepped back, body thrumming a line of tension that said she’d step in again if she wasn’t pleased with how Wes handled this.

Blaine waited for what his oldest friend had to say.

Wes approached him, hands held empty out to his sides. Blaine wasn’t sure whether to be amused or offended by the fact he was being treated like a wary animal and settled for letting his eyebrows lift in his incredulity.

Wes’s mouth twitched towards a smile but didn’t quite make it, falling short into a more pained grimace.

“Blaine.” There was pain in his voice, as well. Blaine’s heart clenched. “We just want to understand. You were getting out. That’s all you’ve wanted for the past fifteen years. You were free, Blaine. You could finally have a life.”

Blaine was shaking his head before Wes even finished.

“To do what, Wes?” Blaine spread his hands and shook his head when Wes moved to interrupt, “No, listen. I know I could have had a life on shore. And it would have been _amazing_ , more than I could ever have dreamed.”

He turned to Kurt at these words, desperate to reach out to him, but Kurt was pulling into himself, wrapping his own arms around his body. Blaine ached at the sight. At the knowledge it was his doing. He took a breath and tore his gaze away from the beautiful boy in front of him. He needed to talk to Kurt, but his friends deserved to understand as well. Wes and David had been the ones to take it upon themselves to help Blaine prepare for a life on shore, after all.

“But I can have a life here, too.” Blaine caught the sarcastic tilt of Santana’s brow and knew what she was thinking. “I know you’re all, well, _dead_ , but how different is this from life?” He waved around a little helplessly, “I have a home, a job, _friends_ here. Almost everyone I know and love is on this ship. I know how to do this job, and I’m really good at it. I can help _so many_ people. I can still go ashore. What am I really missing out on?”

Blaine froze as soon as the words escaped his mouth, and a strangled noise from Kurt sent a lancing pain through his heart. He knew very well what he was missing out on.

There was pity on everyone’s face, but Kurt…Kurt’s expression was glacial.

“ _What am I missing out on?_ I don’t know, _Captain_ , I thought you had a pretty decent future ahead of you. A home. A job of your choice. _Someone who loves you_.” Kurt’s tone sliced through Blaine’s determined insistence that he was okay with everything he had given up when he made his decision. “I must have misunderstood when you told me you didn’t want this, that you would choose me if you could. I’m terribly sorry. But hey, maybe that future wasn’t as promising as I thought, if you so easily gave it up for a little power.”

Blaine knew Kurt didn’t really believe that, could hear the _me_ instead of _it_ , but the hurt that Kurt could even entertain the possibility that Blaine felt that way overrode the understanding. His chest inflated and he narrowed his eyes. Kurt spoke again before Blaine could get a word out.

“No, I bet it’s more than that.” Kurt pretended to think, finger tapping his chin though his hard stare never left Blaine’s face. “This was easier. You were scared of actually having to think for yourself for once. Now you don’t have to make a choice. Nothing to be afraid of when you can’t die.”

Blaine reeled back like he had been slapped, eyes wide at the secret fears Kurt has just wielded against him. Kurt had always tried to show Blaine that he was braver than he believed, that he wasn’t the coward his deepest fears whispered he was. And now Kurt was hurling those words against him with the intent to hurt. His shock lasted only a moment before anger rose to take its place and he stepped forward, preparing his own attack.

Two hands appeared on his shoulders, pulling him back. Blaine whipped his head to either side and found Wes and Sam beside him, grips light but firm, both a comfort and a warning. He glared.

“Now’s not the time, Blaine, Kurt.” Wes directed a hard stare at Kurt, sure to include him in his rebuke and to let the other man know he had reparations to make for his words.

Blaine let his breath out in a hiss and wrenched himself away from them, away from Kurt. He tamped down the burgeoning, broiling anger in his gut until he could ignore it and focus on his new duties.

Still furious, he leveled a narrowed eye gaze around the room and there was spite in his tone that clipped his words as he asked, “Where is Sebastian?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Gilipollas, again, is asshole.


	7. Chapter 7

The room was thick with tension as they all stood silent in their own corners while David and Santana went to fetch Sebastian from the brig. Or rather, from where they’d left him tied in the galley since the _Dutchman_ didn’t have a brig.

Blaine sank into a chair, running his hands over his face and ignoring everyone else in the room. He couldn’t regret his decision. He had done what was necessary. He had made the right call.

He had. Hadn’t he?        

A hand fell on his arm and Blaine jerked in surprise, turning to see that Wes had pulled a chair over and was sitting beside him with a concerned look on his face. Blaine hadn’t even noticed him moving.

Blaine mumbled, “Not now, Wes.” He shrugged off Wes’s worry and tried to turn away.

Wes threw a glare over Blaine’s shoulder to where he knew Kurt was standing, but when he forced Blaine to meet his gaze, he could only see care and sadness. Blaine let his eyes skitter away. It was too hard to meet such naked sympathy right then.

“Kurt’s wrong, Blaine.” Blaine went still. Despite himself, Kurt had always had the power to make him doubt his decisions, so Wes’s support was unexpected. Wes frowned deeply and continued, voice soft so the others couldn’t overhear, “You are not a coward. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

Something clenched in Blaine’s chest. He shook his head in denial, eyes burning.

“You _are_ , Blaine.” Wes was fervent, passionate in a way he showed only to a few, “I know exactly what you’re giving up. Kurt has known you for five years, now, and you share things in your letters I’m sure you don’t share with anyone else, but _I know you_ , Blaine. I have watched you grow up for fifteen years. You’re one of my best friends, and you know I would never lie to you.”

Fifteen years and he never had. Blaine nodded, blinking away tears. Wes was his voice of reason whenever he felt lost, and Blaine would always trust his opinion. His confidence in Blaine was already healing some of the hurt and doubt slicing through his heart, and Blaine felt a rush of affection and gratitude for his friend.

Wes leaned forward, “Kurt’s wrong, but that’s not my main concern right now. You’ve always been braver than you think you are, because you’re an insufferable idiot who refuses to think the best of yourself. But we should talk about what happened.”

“But you just said I was right,” Blaine said, confused.

Wes shook his head, “That doesn’t mean it’s what I wanted for you. Or what you wanted for yourself. And just because it might have been right, doesn’t mean that it was easy. I know all of this isn’t just about what you had to give up, Blaine. It’s about what you had to _do._ ” Earnestness lined every one of Wes’s features.

Tears prickled again and a lump rose in his throat as Blaine curled in on himself, back bowed and arms tucked close. He didn’t want to think about it. Captain Fokke’s pale blue eyes stared up at him whenever he allowed his mind to drift. Even the fight with Kurt was currently less painful.

“He was like a father to me, Wes,” Blaine whispered, pained. “He always tried to protect me, keep me safe, and I killed him. He just wanted people safe.”

He dug his fingers into his upper arms as if to keep himself from flying to pieces and cinched his eyes tightly closed.

Wes shifted his chair close and threw an arm over Blaine's shoulder, ducking his head in so their temples brushed.

"You did the right thing, Blaine. I know how hard it is for you, though. The first time I killed someone..." he trailed off, gaze going distant. "It's something you remember. But you can't wallow in guilt; it'll drive you mad, and I won't be able to stand someone having to kill you."

Blaine shuddered at the thought that his morals could get so twisted that he could become like Captain Fokke in the end. He shuddered again at the fact he had killed him instead of confronting him. Maybe he could have done more.

Weeks of planning, all that talking, and he hadn't fully grasped that they were plotting the murder of a man who had raised him. Blaine had been so cavalier when it was Mercedes who had to bloody her hands, had willfully ignored what the success of their plan meant. He would get to live his life and it hadn’t mattered that Captain Fokke would have to lose his.

And now, Captain Fokke was dead and his blood was on Blaine's hands.

"Wes..." Blaine started but he didn't have anything to follow.  He didn't know what to say, how to articulate the weight on his heart.

It didn't matter, anyway, as at that moment David shoved open the door, cutting off anything he would have said. David and Santana shouldered through the doorway, Sebastian frog-marched between them with his wrists tied in front of him. Sebastian was pale, bruised, and wincing but managed a smirk in Blaine’s direction, looking honestly relieved to see him.

“Hey, Killer,” he rasped out. Blaine flinched, though he knew Sebastian couldn’t have known.

“What the hell happened?” Blaine exclaimed, pushing away his own problems and rising out of his seat in concern for Sebastian’s state.

Santana paused, eyes wide and jaw going slack in uncharacteristically blatant shock at Blaine’s ignorance. Then she rolled her eyes, scoffing.

“Are you kidding me? Wesley, I at least expected better from you. Come _on_ , people.” She crossed her arms and turned to Blaine, although he noticed she didn’t fully let Sebastian out of her sight. “Fokke knew the smirky rat had something to do with your disappearance. He didn’t like that. The asshole managed to keep his own secret, but he gave up the mutiny plans.” She glared at Sebastian. “Fokke liked that even less.”

“Fortunately,” Wes cut in, his matter of fact tone reinserting itself in the report, “Captain Fokke decided that foiling the mutiny was a more pressing matter than punishing the leaders of said plan, since he didn’t know what day it was happening. He hit Quinn for trying to stop him from beating Sebastian for answers, and Santana for intervening when he continued going after Quinn.” Blaine checked Santana over, concerned he had missed a more serious injury. Santana scowled and waved him off, indicating her black eye. “We didn’t know any of this at the time, since he either knew or at least guessed who was masterminding the plan, and Quinn and Santana showed up too late to learn Sebastian was a through and through asshole. Anyway, it wasn’t long before someone betrayed us and reported the details, including Mercedes’ part in it and when it would likely happen.”

Expression dark, David finished the report in a low, deep tone, words clipped and sharp, “It was one of the men on watch. One alerted us, like planned. The other woke Fokke. Fokke woke his crew. He tried to attack Wes. There were too many of us. You saw the rest of that confrontation before the real fighting broke out.”

Blaine’s head reeled as he worked to process this new information. Most of it could be dealt with later—and would need to be if he didn’t want disloyalty and dissatisfaction on his ship—but for now he needed to know what Sebastian planned to do.

His hand rested on his sword more as a gesture of security than a real threat as he faced Sebastian and considered the bound man in front of him.

Sebastian met his gaze head on, appearing relaxed even as he stood defenseless in a room full of people with every reason to feel hostile towards him. Blaine just felt defeated. He had trusted Sebastian.

“Why?” was his simple question.

Sebastian tilted his chin up and squared his shoulders, “I am Lieutenant Sebastian Smythe, serving under the command of Lieutenant Commander Hunter Clarington of the US Navy. I was sent here under orders to infiltrate the _Flying Dutchman_ and learn the secrets of the ship and her captain, and to pass the information to Lieutenant Clarington so that he could gain her powers for use by the Navy. In return, he would give me command over a ship as well as immortality.”

There was an angry thrum of energy to the room as everyone straightened, stances far more threatening as they glared at Sebastian. Wes and David bordered on actual aggression.

To his credit, Sebastian didn’t flinch beneath their heated regard, and merely kept up a steel eyed focus forward on the wall of the cabin. Blaine himself was mostly incredulous that he had the gall to state his intentions so proudly, to Blaine especially. Santana, small as she was, _loomed_ over Sebastian, violence a promise emanating from her very being.

Before she could say or do anything, Blaine spoke, mouth turned down, eyebrows furrowed, and arms crossed, “How is that working out for you?” He couldn’t help the heavy sarcasm dripping from his tone.

Sebastian blinked but refused any other capitulation.

Blaine didn’t move but to narrow his eyes, knowing Santana—and the others at his back—was as much intimidation as he’d ever need. If he was honest, he was disappointed in Sebastian, almost equal to the hurt he felt at the betrayal.

“Sebastian, how is this helping you right now? You know you can’t leave this ship without my permission.” Sebastian gave a twitch at that information, as if he _hadn’t_ known. Blaine’s eyebrows raised, “Right. I guess you wouldn’t. I’m Captain now.”

Finally, confidence trickled its way back down Sebastian’s features as he lazily slid his gaze over to Blaine who kept his face blank in response. Sebastian changed tack with all the ease of a shifting tide. His body language loosened and the corner of his mouth twisted up.

“Yeah? Congratulations, Killer. Didn’t think you wanted that sort of power.” Sebastian’s eyes had a gleam to them as he flirted with Blaine. Blaine stared at him. He couldn’t figure out how this angle would work any better for Sebastian.

“Why are you doing this, Sebastian? What did we do to you? What did Hunter do _for_ you?” Blaine shook his head, honestly baffled. He had truly thought Sebastian was getting along with the crew, that he had liked Blaine. To know he had been playing them the whole time, that it was his plan that facilitated Blaine getting kidnapped hurt. And now…

“I told you. I want the promotion. Hunter is my Commanding Officer, and I’m loyal to my Navy. The immortality schtick doesn’t hurt, either.” Sebastian shrugged. “The rest of you can stick around for all I care, as long as you listen. Mutinies won’t be tolerated.”

The room went utterly still, and Sebastian seemed to realize he had said something wrong.

Santana let out a cruel laugh.

“Oh, you are a new kind of stupid,” she said. “I overestimated you.” For the first time, Sebastian allowed his confusion to show on his face. “You want to kill Blaine, and you think any of us are going to follow you afterwards.”

Sebastian’s mouth fell open, “What? I don’t want to kill Blaine. He doesn’t even want to be the Captain.”

Blaine reeled back at the realization, “Hunter never told you. You don’t know.”

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably, and then tried to pretend he hadn’t by slipping back into a persona of knowing nonchalance.

Blaine laughed, once, in bitter disbelief. “Did he tell you anything?”

The reaction was immediate. Sebastian’s shoulders tensed and he glared at Blaine, “This is _our_ plan. We developed it together. I know everything.”

Blaine felt bad for the other man, just a little, despite it all. Did he even know anything helpful about Hunter? Was any of the information he held true?

“So you knew that, after kidnapping me, Hunter was going to torture me for information on the _Dutchman_.” Kurt let out a wounded sound, but Blaine couldn’t do anything to comfort him right now. And honestly, he was still mad. “Did you know the only questions he asked were about the extent of the _Dutchman’_ s power, and how he already knew how to obtain it? Did you know that, since you’re part of the crew, its captain will always have command over you until you pass on? And, unless a living soul kills them, the captain only gives up their power if they choose to enter Fiddler’s Green of their own free will. I don’t see Hunter choosing to die any time soon.”

Pity rose in Blaine at the blatant surprise and betrayal on Sebastian’s face. “Whatever he promised you was a lie, Sebastian. And he killed you for it. What has he done to deserve your loyalty?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

While Blaine felt no pleasure at seeing Sebastian so defeated, he was relieved that Sebastian was finally going to help them plan a defense against Hunter.

Wes left the cabin to assume oversight of the crew and gather the various commanders of Blaine’s crew to discuss strategy. As Wes passed David, who was lurking vigilantly behind a now seated Sebastian, he exchanged a significant look with his fellow Midshipman. By the way they both then looked to him, Blaine knew Wes had just passed off Blaine-sitting duty. He tried to feel annoyed, but only managed fond exasperation.

His best friends were all overprotective idiots.

Sam, similarly, had exited the room after pressing a kiss to Mercedes’ forehead and a comforting shoulder smack to Blaine. Santana staunchly refused to leave, crossing her arms imperiously and daring Blaine to say otherwise. As if he would.

Soon, Bartholomew, Santiago, Quinn, and Puck had all joined their group in Blaine’s quarters, standing as his Surgeon, Master, Corporal, and Gunner. Bartholomew and Santiago cast suspicious looks at Kurt and Mercedes still standing quietly in the corner, but Puck smirked in their direction and Quinn offered a small smile.

Blaine stepped forward with his hands out, drawing all attention to himself.

“Look, I know some of you may not be happy about the change in command. I don’t know where you stood on Captain Fokke’s actions. However, I can’t undo what happened and, while I will of course release any who wish it from service, we have something more pressing to deal with at present.”

Moving aside, he swept a hand back towards their bound companion, “Sebastian was a member of the US Navy under the command of Hunter Clarington. Hunter is the one who had me kidnapped, and he plans to take control of the _Dutchman_ and become her captain. Whatever you think of me, I’m asking you to help fend off this threat.”

Puck’s face had fallen in the midst of Blaine’s plea, and distress was clear in his voice as he exclaimed, “Wait, it’s true? You’re Captain? I’m happy for you man, but what about,” he broke off there and waved towards Kurt, then made obscene gestures with his hands. Blaine’s face burned. Kurt hid his face in his hands.

Bless her, Quinn put a hand on Puck’s arm, quieting him, “We’re with you, Captain Anderson.” Blaine’s heart skipped a beat at that. It was the first time anyone had addressed him as Captain. It felt both like a blow and a mantle. Throat feeling choked up, Blaine nodded his thanks to her, and then turned his attention to the two remaining men. They were the ones he was unsure of.

Santiago and Bartholomew stood there, inscrutable, until Santiago raised a fist to his heart and inclined his head slightly, “You have my loyalty, se lo juro. Pero…I have been aboard this ship for a long time. This will be my last act as Master. I am an old man, and I watched my last Captain lose himself. Quiero descansar.”

“I understand, and thank you.” Blaine turned to Bartholomew, who remained blank faced as he studied Blaine.

Unexpectedly, the large man stepped towards Blaine and placed his hands on either of Blaine’s shoulders, gentle for all their heavy weight. Blaine was caught in his piercing gaze.

“Son, you came aboard this ship when you were 8 years old, under conditions which I have used to justify killing men. I have watched you grow into the young man before me while every day you witnessed death in all its forms. Despite it all, you have made people love you, feel safe with you, and given everything you have to help them.” Blaine’s his eyes dropped to a point on Bartholomew’s chest as his face began to burn and he fought the urge to pull away. “You kept a man who thought he had lost everything from believing all of mankind was irredeemable. Captain Fokke could have been much worse, had it not been for you. I’ve seen it.” He gave Blaine’s shoulders a shake and forced him to look up again. “You remain one of the kindest people I have ever met. Captain, I am proud to offer you my loyalty and sail under your command.”

Bartholomew clapped his hands one last time on Blaine’s shoulders and stepped back. Blaine fought the pressure building behind his wide eyes, swallowing hard against the emotion that had ballooned in his chest. Bartholomew was a man of few words, and Blaine couldn’t recall a time he had ever heard him say so much.

Almost entirely overwhelmed by this point, Blaine could only nod his understanding. David, true and merciful friend that he was, picked up on Blaine’s inability to speak and drew the room’s— _Oh ,God, the room was full of people_ —attention back to the purpose of their gathering.

“Well, we’ve got our commanders. What do we know about Hunter?” He nudged the back of Sebastian’s head, indicating the question was for him. Sebastian scowled, and then crossed his arms, thoughtful.

“He won’t have approval from his C.O. for this, so it’s unlikely he’ll be using a ship. His family is powerful and rich, but they don’t have a solid hold in the Northeast for now. He’s not going to find aid or a ship from them on such short notice, either.”

Puck was disappointed, “So no cannons.”

Quinn smacked him. “That’s a _good_ thing, Puckerman. Any idea of what kind of numbers we’re facing?”

Blaine shook his head—his guards had stayed mostly out of sight, and he wasn’t sure how many of them truly knew and agreed with Hunter’s plan.

Sebastian shrugged, “I would say no more than 20, but I don’t know who he has recruited since I left.”

“Or who has left him,” Blaine added, thinking of Finn. He turned to Bartholomew. “How are we doing? Is any of the crew seriously injured?” If it had been anything too bad, Bartholomew would have fetched him to heal them before all this, but that didn’t mean everyone was fighting fit.

“The crew didn’t pull their punches, and we’ve got a few broken bones among us, but we’re mostly healthy. Resentment might linger longer than some of their wounds.” He stroked at his beard. “The trouble will be who will listen to you. We could press-gang them,” Blaine’s face contorted and he shook his head in distaste, “but that’s not the Captain you want to be. Nor would you be able to trust those men in a fight to watch your back.”

Pacing the small space available to him, Blaine thought out loud, “We’ll need to ask the crew who is willing and instruct the others either off the ship or below decks. Below. We can’t run if anyone is missing, and if Hunter takes long enough, we could make the jump.” He froze, then whirled toward Sebastian, urgency sparking down his spine, “How did you know how to summon us? What does Hunter know?”

Sebastian’s hand drifted to the side where he had been impaled, “We knew the _Dutchman_ appeared wherever there was a death at sea.” He forced his hand away and swallowed. “Hunter had also connected stories of your appearance to the green flash at sunset.”

Blaine stared, going cold at the implication. “He knows. He knows we’ll be able to leave at sunset. He’s on a deadline.”

Santana stepped forward, voice hard, “Which means he’s going to act soon.”

Purpose settled firm in Blaine’s chest, and he turned to those nearest the door. “Puck, Quinn, Santiago. Go warn the crew. Tell anyone injured or unwilling to fight to get below decks, but to be prepared. We don’t know what Hunter will do, or when. Tell everyone else to prepare to set sail. He can’t catch us if he doesn’t have a ship. David, take Sebastian back down to the galley.” He met Sebastian’s eyes. “I don’t trust you to fight, but I’m not going to let you get hurt either.” Sebastian grimaced and looked uncomfortable, but accepted the command without a word. “Bartholomew, update Wes and take charge with Santiago until I get out there.”

They all began to disperse to follow his orders. “Oh, and send Sam back in here.”

Blaine breathed in, out, and faced the final two. He couldn’t look at Kurt directly.

“You should go. I don’t want you caught in the fighting. You both could be seriously hurt, and we can run and make the jump to the other side once sunset comes.”

“Blaine,” came Kurt’s voice, subdued and plaintive. Blaine hunched his shoulders and stared fixedly at a point near the floor. Sam entered behind him, but his friend didn’t say a word before he made his way over to Mercedes. Sam always had a good sense of the emotional state of a room. “Blaine, please. Look at me.”

Blaine raised watery eyes to finally look Kurt full in the face. There was movement to the side, and Mercedes pressed a hand to his arm as she passed by. As she left, she whispered, “Talk to him, Blaine. He’s hurting, too.”

Touching her hand with his own, he squeezed lightly but never looked away from Kurt. “Thanks, Mercedes. For everything.”

The door clicked closed quietly as they left, and Kurt and Blaine were finally alone.

Blaine didn’t know what to say.

Kurt moved first, reaching out for Blaine’s hand. Hesitating only a moment, Blaine reached back and allowed Kurt to take hold. Relief colored Kurt’s beautiful features and he gently pulled a compliant Blaine over to sit side by side on Blaine’s bed.

Blaine’s heart twisted at the conflicting desires to kiss him or to pull away before he could be hurt again.

“Blaine,” Kurt was holding back tears, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it. I just…I can’t stand to lose you.”  He tried to pull his hand back, to curl around himself, but Blaine refused to let go. “I’m never saying goodbye to you, Blaine. I’d choose you, every time, forever. You’re so brave, you really are. I love you.”

Blaine no longer had any chance of holding back his tears, and his voice wavered when he said, “I love you, too, Kurt.”

“I wish it wasn’t like this,” Blaine flinched, but had nothing to say in denial. He did, too. Kurt continued earnestly, “But I understand now. I know why you did it. And if you hadn’t…Blaine, I should have understood from the beginning. I _know_ you, you don’t just give up on things for no reason—you _sacrifice_. It kills me that you do, but if you stopped…if you lost your kindness…you wouldn’t be you.”

“Kurt…” Blaine trailed off as Kurt tugged on his hands.

“I’m _not_ losing you. I’ll stay near the ocean. We’ll write letters. And one day…” Kurt went silent as Blaine tugged his hands free to cup Kurt’s face, pulling him into a fierce kiss. Kurt eagerly returned it, then wrapped his arms around Blaine and burrowed into a tight hug, face pressed firmly into Blaine’s neck.

Blaine held onto him as if he would never let go. Voice broken, he said, “You need to go, before Hunter gets here. I need you safe, Kurt.”

He felt Kurt’s nod and forced himself to let go. They exchanged watery smiles and rose together, hands finding each other and tangling.

As they approached the door, Wes muffled shout came through the thick wood, calling out, “Blaine!”

Blaine darted forward with Kurt at his side, both alert at the panic they could hear. Wes’s warning cry was followed by a series of thumps and more yelling. Swinging open the door, the clash of steel and yells amplified without the barrier.

Hunter had arrived.

Blaine dropped Kurt’s hand, dashing out towards the fray and pulling out his sword. “Kurt, go!” he shouted, flinging his arm towards where Mercedes’ ship waited, gangplank still in place.

Kurt took off at a run while Blaine engaged with the first enemy sailor he met, striking hard in an effort to disarm. As much as he wanted to, Blaine forced himself not to track Kurt’s progress across the deck.

A series of pops and bangs rang out and Blaine’s still beating heart nearly stopped when he recognized the cry of pain as Kurt. He heard various voices calling out Kurt’s name, Mercedes’ loudest among them.

“Santana!” he screamed, hoping she would understand and go help Kurt. A bullet whizzed by, grazing his arm and leaving a burning trail in its wake. Blaine gasped and fell back, but his opponent was on him in a second, giving him no time to recover.

“Mercedes, go! Get out of here!” a woman shouted, but Blaine couldn’t distinguish who as Puck gave a roar of rage and launched himself at the next gunman taking aim at Blaine. Nowhere in the mess did he see Hunter and, when bullets flew as cover fire from Mercedes’ ship while it slowly departed, Blaine chanced a glance over to where Kurt had been.

He couldn’t see anything through the swathe of bodies between them.

Even as he craned his neck, his adversary returned, forcing Blaine back on the defensive. Frustrated with the whole situation and feeling as if his heart were lost in the chaos on the other side of the ship, Blaine slid under the next stab aimed at his chest. He locked his hilt with the Navy man’s, twisting the sword out of his grasp. Blaine paused—he wasn’t going to kill the man—before knocking him in the head with the flat of his cutlass. That would hopefully keep him down and out of the fight.

One enemy down, Blaine spun to look for his next fight and immediately hit the deck to barely avoid a strike that would have killed him. He rolled of the way and to his feet in a smooth motion Mike had drilled into him. Sinking into a defensive stance, Blaine had the chance to look at his foe.

He blanched.

Towering over him was Lt. Colonel Hunter Clarington, sword bloody and eyes wild.

“ _You_ ,” Hunter practically growled, stalking forward. Blaine fought the urge to take a step back, instead moving into the swing, arms shaking under the force of the blow. Hunter was far stronger than Blaine would ever be, but Blaine had agility on his side.

As well as dirty tactics, he thought, leveling an elbow at Hunter’s kidney as he spun around him, courtesy of Puck, Santana, and Wes.

Still, soon Blaine could feel himself tiring under the unrelenting barrage Hunter was battering down on him. After the stress of the night before and of the morning, Blaine was running on his reserves.

“Where is your captain?” Hunter asked through gritted teeth between strikes. Surprised, Blaine nearly missed the next parry, Hunter’s sword coming close to his chest before Blaine managed to push it away and stumble back.

Of course Hunter didn’t know, Blaine realized. How would he? He just got lucky that one of the people he had chosen to fight was the captain of the ship. And Hunter didn’t even realize.

Eyes wide, Blaine tripped over a fallen man’s leg, catching himself before he fell but not before he saw the gleam of triumph in Hunter’s eyes. Blaine shouted as Hunter’s blade sliced through his leg, causing him to buckle. This time, what prevented him from hitting the ground was Hunter, who grabbed his arm by the wrist and twisted it up behind him, forcing Blaine to drop his sword and freeze.

“Halt!” Hunter commanded, drawing all attention as his voice carried over the deck. Satisfied that everyone was listening, Hunter pressed his sword against Blaine’s neck and gazed around the ship.

“Captain, step forward or I will slice his throat wide open,” Hunter threatened, trying to pinpoint who was in charge. Blaine saw the anger and concern on his crew’s faces, but no one moved.

“Well?” Hunter goaded, “I know you care for this boy. Step forward or I kill him.”

Blaine began to sweat, head tilted back as he worked to avoid the sharp blade cutting into his neck. If no one came forward, Hunter would eventually either figure it out or kill him anyway. Both would accomplish his purpose. Not that he knew that.

“I’m Captain.” Blaine’s gaze flew to the right where Wes stepped out of the crowd with a false calm. “Now release him.”

Hunter’s hand convulsed on Blaine’s wrist and the blade pushed closer before retreating, just a bit. Blaine breathed deeply.

“I’d prefer to have some leverage as we negotiate the terms of your surrender, actually.” Hunter focused with pinpoint precision on Wes, “Or rather, until your real captain comes forth. You don’t quite pass as a Dutchman, _Captain Fokke_.”

Wes faltered, thwarted. He grimaced apologetically at Blaine, but Blaine understood. Without any idea how much knowledge Hunter had about them, they were at a severe disadvantage if they wanted to outsmart him.

As the seconds dragged on and nothing more happened, Blaine felt Hunter’s body coiling tighter, held taut behind him like a bowstring ready to fire.

“ _Where is your captain?_ ” Hunter’s voice was thunder, spittle flying from his mouth in his rage.

No one moved, _Dutchman_ or Navy. Blaine’s breath came shallow again, as Hunter’s blade crept closer and closer to his neck until he felt a sting and a tickle as blood leaked down his throat.

The sight of Blaine’s blood broke the stalemate, and a small throwing knife— _Santana,_ Blaine’s mind supplied—embedded itself in Hunter’s upper arm. He roared in pain and jerked towards the wound, which was thankfully _away_ from Blaine’s skin.

The next knife caught Hunter in the hand, forcing him to drop his sword. There was a scuffle as Hunter’s men tried to locate the source of the projectiles and Blaine’s crew rallied around Santana, protecting her and subduing them.

Blaine used the chaos to make an attempt to twist free from his captor. He managed to break Hunter’s grip on his wrist, but with a snarl, Hunter was on him again. He had ripped the knife from his hand and, as he wrapped an arm around Blaine’s neck tight enough to restrict his breathing, he buried the blade deep in Blaine’s thigh.

Blaine’s cry of pain once more brought everyone on deck to a standstill. One hand immediately clutched at the knife, but he had the presence of mind to leave it in his leg. Gritting his teeth, Blaine brought both hands to Hunter’s arm where it was crushing his trachea and pulled. Hunter’s hold loosened, but Blaine didn’t move an inch as the cold metal barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

“I will shoot him if the captain of this ship does not step forward in the next minute. _No games_.” Hunter growled, glaring around at those gathered in front of them. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, mind racing as he tried to think his way out of the problem.

There had to be a solution. This couldn’t be how it ended.

There had to be an answer, another option.

Multiple feet scuffled along the deck ahead of them, and Blaine felt Hunter tense and shift towards the noise, pistol forcing Blaine to move with him.

A weak voice that sounded like Kurt called out, “Wait!” but before Blaine could even open his eyes to assess the new situation, a gun fired and Blaine and Hunter both hit the deck as the smell of sulfur rose into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Se lo juro—I swear it to you  
> • Quiero descansar—I want to rest


	8. Chapter 8

Blaine grunted as he hit the ground, Hunter cushioning his fall. He scrambled away as quickly as he could with a knife still sticking out of his leg, half rolling off of Hunter as the other man lurched to the other side, yowling.

Dazed, Blaine propped himself up on his elbows, hands hovering over his thigh, and watched as a steady bloom of red spread across Hunter’s jacket. In an instant, David was there, grabbing Hunter’s hands and binding them before putting pressure on the wound. Blaine’s gaze wandered back in the direction the bullet had come from and was flabbergasted to find Sebastian there, gun in hand and a hard look on his face as he stared at his former commanding officer.

Before Blaine could begin to figure out how Sebastian had escaped, let alone armed himself, Bartholomew was blocking his view. His surgeon reached down, a length of cloth held ready in one hand, and pulled the knife out with no further warning, pressing the wound immediately with the cloth. Blaine’s vision went white and a strangled cry tore out of his throat.

Bartholomew took his hands and positioned them over the bandage, “Hold pressure there for another minute. It should close up enough to stop bleeding soon.”

The haze of pain cleared enough for confusion to settle into its place. Blaine cracked an eye open and stared, baffled, at where Bartholomew was now poking the slash on his leg from earlier in the fight. To his shock, once the blood was wiped away, all that was left was a healing scratch.

“What…?” Blaine managed.

Bartholomew glanced up at him from where he had taken back control over putting pressure on the stab wound, “Hmmm?” A grin split the quizzical expression on his face, “It’s one of your perks of being Captain, Captain.” He lifted the bloody cloth to reveal a closing wound to Blaine’s astonished eyes.

“Huh,” was his articulate response.

Luckily, Hunter chose that moment to scream inarticulately and lunge at Blaine, “You?!”

Blaine threw himself backwards as David seized Hunter’s jacket and Bartholomew reacted more quickly than anyone expected, punching Hunter square in the face. An audible _crunch_ sounded as the blow landed, and blood began to poor from Hunter’s nose as the man himself hit the deck, stunned.

Shaking his fist, Bartholomew used his other hand to reach into the pack attached to his hip and pull out another bandage. Looking around, he motioned to one of Hunter’s crew that was lingering nearby.

“You, come here.” The boy stumbled over and to his knees, compliant to Bartholomew’s manhandling of his limbs. “Hold this here.” He directed him to the bandage situated over the bullet wound. “Harder, boy. There. Keep this asshole alive until our Captain decides what he is going to do with you all.”

Bartholomew nodded at Blaine, who was shocked to realize these men were all their prisoners now, and pushed himself to his feet, shambling off to the next person who needed his attention.

Blaine looked around, taking stock of the situation. In particular, he studied those who had come with Hunter.

They were young. Blaine shook his head, wondering if they had any idea what Hunter’s real plan had been, if they knew what they were getting into when they’d agreed.

Based on Sebastian’s story, the answer was likely no. He sighed.

Shifting to one knee, Blaine scooted closer to where the young sailor was holding both hands over Hunter in an effort to staunch the bleeding and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Gather the rest of the men who came with you and get him out of here,” he instructed. Glaring down at a seething Hunter, Blaine made his voice as low as it could go and growled out, “ _Never_ come after us again. And hope that you don’t die at sea.”

Hunter’s eyes widened at the implications, and Blaine rose to his feet, walking away. He would never deliver on the implied threat, would in fact ferry Hunter’s soul just like anybody else’s—although maybe more closely guarded—but he couldn’t promise his crew wouldn’t make the journey more unpleasant.

Trusting David to make sure his order was carried out, Blaine allowed his panic to seep back out from where he had been suppressing it. He hoped the fact that no one had come to find him meant that Kurt was alright. That it hadn’t been Kurt’s voice crying out he had heard. That Kurt was safely on Mercedes’ ship and out of danger.

That Kurt wasn’t propped in Santana’s lap, covered in blood with each breath shuddering out of his rapidly paling form. Blaine froze, and then nearly tripped over his own feet as he ran to Kurt’s side, skidding to a stop on his knees as he threw himself down.

“Kurt,” he whispered, brokenly, reaching out and brushing his fingers over Kurt’s face with a gentle caress. His skin was cold and clammy, and his freckles stood out in stark relief against the rest of his skin. Beautiful, clear blue eyes fluttered open at his touch and Kurt’s lips curled upwards.

“Hey, Blaine.” Kurt’s voice was weak, quiet as a day out in the doldrums. “You’re all right.” Blaine’s heart broke at the relief he could hear, like all of Kurt’s worry was for him and his safety despite the bullet wound piercing his side.

He looked up at Santana, hoping she would reassure him, that there was a good reason she wasn’t doing anything to stop what Blaine feared was happening. Her eyes were wet and Blaine’s hope dimmed before she even shook her head.

“There’s nothing _I_ can do for him,” she said, voice low. Blaine’s eyebrows raised in despair at what she was really saying. Was there no chance at all?

“Blaine,” Kurt regained his attention, reaching up to grasp the hand still gently stroking his face. He guided Blaine’s hand down to his side and smiled, tears running down his cheeks. “Remember when you said forever? I hope you haven’t changed your mind.”

Blaine made a choked noise that he couldn’t identify as a laugh or a sob, dropping his chin to his chest as he started to cry. Blood dribbled over his fingers. “This isn’t how I wanted our forever to start, Kurt.”  

“I—ah” Kurt cut himself off with a gasp, “I imagined much better outfits. Less…less blood.” Kurt’s fingers twitched over Blaine’s hand, resting heavily where they lay with no force other than gravity keeping them there.

This incredible man. He was the bravest person Blaine knew, and he was losing everything.

“We’ll find something better for when we actually get married,” Blaine managed, summoning up as much of a smile as he could, pushing down to keep the tide of blood back just a little longer.

“That better not be how you’re proposing to me, Captain Anderson,” weak as he was, Kurt laced a threat into his teasing response. Blaine loved him so much. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Kurt’s fingers twitched again, indicating what he meant.

Still, Blaine hesitated. If he healed him, that was it. Kurt was dead. He would lose his life, his family, his dreams. Blaine looked pleadingly at Santana, like maybe something had changed in the past few minutes. She frowned at him, sympathy but also command in her expression.

Kurt had suffered enough. Closing his eyes, Blaine focused inward, searching for what he needed. He had no idea what he was doing, relying on the hope it would be instinctual. Immersing himself in the love he felt for Kurt, in what he prayed was his newfound power, Blaine _willed_ Kurt to be healed. He imagined tissue closing, blood resuming its rightful course, skin unmarred and smooth.

He felt no discernable difference and only a hitch in Kurt’s breathing and a strengthening of the grip Kurt had on his hands indicated that Blaine had been successful at all. He opened his eyes to find Kurt smiling at him, color already returning to his cheeks.

Relief sent Blaine’s heart soaring above the topsails before it fell 50 feet into sadness and grief. So this is how Kurt must have felt after Blaine had murdered Captain Fokke. Except, Blaine got to keep Kurt with him. He was selfishly glad for that, but guilt at the thought of all those who loved Kurt and had just lost him tempered that joy.

“Well, do I have to swear an oath now, or can I save all my best work for the vows?” Kurt sassed, still a little breathless.

Blaine huffed a laugh, “If that is _you_ proposing to me, Kurt Hummel, I have to say I expected a little more flair.”

Not giving Kurt a chance to respond—he _always_ had to have the last word—Blaine bent over and sealed his lips over Kurt’s, one hand drifting up automatically to cup the back of his neck. Kurt responded like it was an instinct, reaching up to wrap his arms around Blaine and pull him close, nearly toppling him over.

“Alright, let’s not start your matelotage right in my lap. I’m all for threesomes, but you’ve got some extra bits I am uninterested in.” Santana’s irritated voice broke through the haze and Blaine jerked away from Kurt, bright red and wide-eyed. He had completely forgotten Santana was there. From the pink flush covering his face and retreating down his neck, Kurt had as well, which was impressive because _he was still lying mostly in her lap_. Santana had an appraising look in her eye that Blaine didn’t trust, but Wes cut in before she had a chance to say anything.

“I thought I was going to have to dump a bucket of water over them to cool that down.” Blaine would have been grateful for Wes’s interruption if he wasn’t so mortified. Maybe Santana’s comment would have been better after all.

On the other hand, no. No, it most assuredly would not have been better. It was Santana.

“If you had drenched me with that bucket, Montgomery, I would have killed you properly this time.” Santana threatened, shoving Kurt off of her and rising to her feet. Blaine followed suit, standing and offering a hand to help Kurt up as well. Kurt stumbled as he rose, still dizzy from blood loss, but Blaine didn’t mind the excuse to wrap an arm around his waist.

“What’s up, Wes?” he asked, trying to head their sniping at each other off before it could really begin. Wes was the most reliably logical person Blaine knew, but he was also a mischievous ass who loved verbal spars, especially with Santana, who he considered a worthy foe. She had actually tried to murder him before.

Blaine was beginning to realize just how hard being Captain was going to be. Much of his crew consisted of wet, cantankerous cats, and it was his job now to herd them.

He loved it, a little. Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hip, happiness finally winning out as Kurt kissed his cheek in response.

Wes reluctantly let the opportunity to argue with Santana go, and straightened his spine, “Well, Captain, Hunter and all his men have cleared off the ship. I very much doubt we’ll ever see him again.” Blaine wasn’t sure if that was an assessment of the condition in which Hunter had left the ship, or a suspicion regarding Hunter’s future with the Navy. He found he didn’t care as much as he had expected. That was troubling, but he’d worry about it later.

“Sebastian?”

“David’s got him. Awaiting your orders.” Wes jerked his head as he turned, indicating for Blaine to follow. Arm secure around Kurt’s waist—and unwilling to let go anytime soon—the two of them trailed after him to where David stood, warily watching a disarmed Sebastian who slouched casually against the mast.

“Hey, Killer,” he greeted, a cautious readiness that he couldn’t hide fully apparent under his affected ease.

“You saved my life,” Blaine stated. Kurt shifted at his side but remained silent. Sebastian pushed off the mast and stood taller. “Which I’m going to take as confirmation you’re not plotting to kill me anymore.”

Sebastian withheld from fidgeting, but Blaine could tell it was a near thing.

“Does this mean I don’t have to be babysat anymore?” he asked, smirking.

Blaine nodded, to Sebastian’s apparent surprise. “We’re not going to keep you in the brig. You can have your bunk back. We’re heading for Fiddler’s Green once the sun sets, and it’s your choice what you do when we get there.”

Sebastian crossed his arms and looked away, out over the water. “I think I’m going to take my chances with them, rather than a ship full of people that hate me.”

Blaine’s protests to the contrary died before they could even reach his lips. He could hardly pretend it wasn’t true when they were surrounded by sailors who kept shooting Sebastian dirty looks. David didn’t attempt to hide his glower from Sebastian’s side.

That may have been influenced by the fact that Sebastian had stolen his gun, on top of getting David’s best friend kidnapped and tortured. Blaine didn’t question it.

“If that’s your choice.” Blaine extended his free hand. Sebastian hesitated for the barest fraction of a second, then grasped it and shook, hard.

Letting go, Blaine directed his next comment to David and Wes, “Tell the crew we’re preparing to sail. Set a course northward, please.”

Wes and David smirked, but nodded and wandered off to gather the sailors well enough to man the ship.

Blaine tugged Kurt along with him as he left Sebastian behind and headed for the bow, which was facing the horizon. Reaching the rail, Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine and leaned in.

“I’m going to miss my family,” Kurt whispered. Blaine kissed him.

“We’re stopping in Gloucester before we jump. We’ll tell your dad, make sure he’s safe.” This time, it was Kurt who kissed Blaine. “We’ll visit when we can. I promise.”

“I know.”

“I’ll tell Wes our specific heading once we’ve set sail.” There was a bustle behind them as the crew moved into action, falling seamlessly into their individual jobs. “We’ve got a little time.”

Kurt’s mouth curved into a smile where it was pressed near Blaine’s ear. “And then we have forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: a matelotage in pirate society is a marriage between two men. As in, they would often exchange rings, pledge eternal union, and share everything. If one died, the rest of the crew would treat the other as if he had lost his marriage partner and gave the surviving member both shares of the plunder and any death benefits. Aka matelotage is pirate gay marriage.
> 
> And that's all she wrote! I hope you enjoyed it. It's a sort of bitter-sweet ending, because our boys end up together forever, but they had to give up a lot in the process. I like to think of it as Pixar-esque (tho less well-written). Blaine will still be torn up about the fact he had to kill Fokke (*I* am still torn up that I had to make Blaine kill Fokke), and Kurt is leaving his family behind. But they're together, so happy.
> 
> A final note is the title. I'm rather fond of it because I like to pretend I'm complicated like an onion. It comes from a sea shanty of the same name, that's about how a crew wishes the second mate would strike the bell that signaled the end of their shift. It mentions an Anderson, and it ends with the crew contemplating the captain who has more on his mind than striking the bell. Seemed foreboding in a way that agreed with the story.
> 
> Also! I was so happy to get to 8 chapters, because, while bells are used aboard the ship to mark the time, they also mark the end of the watch. 8 tolls in particular marks an end. More importantly, when a sailor has died he can be honored with the sounding of eight bells--the end of the watch. Get it? Kurt "dies" in the 8th chapter. It was a hint!
> 
> Anyway, all mistakes are mine and flowerfan2 made it so that there are far fewer than there would be otherwise. I am incredibly grateful. Riverance gave me beautiful, beautiful art and I've rarely been happier than when I received it. This fic isn't perfect, but I'm proud that I finished it and that I participated in my first Big Bang. 
> 
> But, seriously, thank you for reading. I really do hope you liked it.


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